Dark Mirrors
by manic-intent
Summary: Series of fiction based on conventional AUs.  High School, Different Choices, Character Disability.  Basch x Balthier, Gabranth x Balthier, Basch x Gabranth x Balthier
1. The Morality Of Daydreaming

[A/N: I wanted to write a few more AU fics, for fun. XD So I asked best friend to name the most common types of AU fics. Have decided:

1 High School/University AU

2 Where one person is a Girl (unable to write this, sorry)

3 Where one person doesn't die (Epilogues AU)

4 Where something is different in the past (Wicked Game AU)

5 Where characters are placed in urban setting (Photoshoot AU)

6 Mary Sue/Gary Stu (unable to write this)

7 Crossover AU (no interest)

8 Where some character is different physically (i.e. being blind)

9 Where character statuses are shuffled (Instinct AU)

10 Denial fic, i.e. where a different key decision is made during canon

And as you can see realized to my horror that I'd just about covered all of it TT oh well! I tend to write my first few fics as canon (Visions-Diplomacy series), then veer to lots of AU, then back to canon (Primary Feathers, Knave's Heart, Fool's Gold) then back to AU. But no harm doing it again, since I'm bored. NOTE: this series of fics are not written in any form of seriousness.

Arc: Dark Mirrors

Premise: Conventional AU

1 High School AU (good lord, kill me now)

Basch x Balthier, Gabranth x Balthier

The Morality of Daydreaming

"There is an immediate problem, Ffamran," Basch said heavily, trying to keep his voice stern, "With you turning up blank test papers when I _know_ you need not even study to ace them. So, why?"

It was quite unfortunate that ten years of teaching high school history, five of it in a private school filled with spoiled, smart rich kids had not prepared him for this boy. Ffamran was as unpredictable as he was brilliant, and hell, the very first day the son of a Nobel Physics Laureate had enrolled his forms had been passed around the offices as a curiosity: the photocopy of the Mensa certificate with the unbelievable scores on Stanford-Binet and Cattell, and several tests Basch had never heard of before.

"Because they are quite unnecessary?" Ffamran suggested, sitting cross-legged on his desk. It was after hours' detention, and the school was quiet on a Thursday. Basch rubbed his temple as he slumped back in his chair, sifting through the papers. "We all know I am only in high school because my father feels I should make some friends my age, Mister Ron_sen_burg."

And there: the little purr as the consonants of his name were emphasized, that made Basch turn his eyes quickly back to the papers. Come to think of it, Ffamran had only started his antics about test papers after the day Basch had just so happened to walk past the gym and catch sight of the brat dressed in those bloody _small_ school regulation shorts. And he had been so sure his expression was guarded…

Why did too-smart boys have to be so damned _pretty_, anyway? There really should be a scale of karma in the world, Basch decided, where when one was this smart one had to be concurrently ugly. Thinking over the Basch Theory of Karmic Balance preserved his patience as he began to mark the first paper in the stack, Ffamran's blank one pushed to the side, not wanting to consider the highly unethical issue of lusting after seventeen-year-old students.

"And did you?"

"Did I what?" Ffamran cocked his head, leaning forward. The private school's uniform looked too damned good on him, as well: the high collar with the rib of white, navy blue with white cuffs and bronzed buttons, jacket and long trousers.

"Make any friends your age," Basch kept his tone teacherish, to remind himself of taboos and responsibilities.

"Hm. Jules. Ashe, Penelo, Vaan. Vayne." Ffamran named a surprising assortment of students, and all from his standard, but none from his class. It wasn't surprising. Ffamran tended to pointedly daydream in class, his desk clear of even stationery, slouched in his chair and staring out of the window.

The teachers had long given up trying to catch him out: it was fast apparent that the boy _was_ listening, but also that 'listening and absorbing' was only taking up a small fraction of his mind. Certainly whenever there were questions that the class couldn't answer Ffamran would, in a bored drawl that was none too endearing, likely, to those with the unfortunate luck to be part of his class.

He remembered one story from the Literature teacher for Ffamran's class: that once the poor man had decided to take the boy's lack of attention to task before the class. Ffamran had stared at him until he ran out of words, then proceeded to repeat, word-for-word, the last five minutes of the class before the scolding, then looked up at the ceiling and made fifteen minutes' worth of thesis-level observations on Twelfth Night in a bored drawl, some of which the teacher had never heard before, complete with stanza numbers and quotes, and then proceeded with ten minutes' worth of brutal dissection on the teacher's prior analyses. The teacher took leave.

Jules was what the teachers tended to call 'Difficult': the sort who would likely end up smoking if he wasn't already, with a definite disregard for authority which had only his lanky frame to thank that he wasn't also a bully.

Ashe was prim and proper, a diplomat's child and the student council Vice-President. Vayne was a billionaire's son, charismatic and popular, the student council President: he and Ashe tended to clash on many matters, sometimes publicly, and two of the most popular veins of school gossip were whether Vayne and Ashe were romantically involved in secret, and when Ashe would finally snap and murder him.

Penelo and Vaan were inseparable friends, but otherwise unremarkable in terms of grades or achievements.

"I tend to have better luck with teachers."

The purr was there again, oh-Gods, and Basch knew Ffamran was succeeding a little too well in being seductive. He grit his teeth as he scanned the page before him, gripping the red pen tightly, and taking a breath to steady his voice. It was true. Attitude aside, Ffamran was the open favorite of many staff. "Fran, Ondore… Zecht, Zargabaath…"

"And your brother, Mister Ron_sen_burg," Ffamran grinned, and there was something wicked in how the boy rolled the word 'brother' that which made Basch frown. Noah was the gym teacher, but he had hardly ever mentioned Ffamran outside of the predictable, usual topic of the boy's IQ. "Identical twins are _hot_. Do you both know you are likely the most popular teachers in school, at least around the girls?"

"The boys usually chasing Fran, I assume," Basch said pointedly, with narrowed eyes. He knew this, of course, and Noah as well, but their preferences made it easy to deal with any number of clumsy attempted flirtations and the lion's share of valentine's day chocolates amongst the teachers. There had been a few incidents with boys, as well, but they had been easy to rebuff. Ffamran was quite something else, and unfortunately, the brat likely knew it.

"She is a great friend, and she is also definitely not interested," Ffamran replied, slipping off the chair and approaching. Basch found his eyes drawn to the boy's unconscious sway of slender hips, swallowed, cursed himself for swallowing, and fought the urge to back away, as Ffamran put elbows over his desk and leant forward, the pert arse now in the air and that too-pretty face far too close. "I _could_ do the test now, if you want me to."

"But?" Basch asked, warily.

Ffamran stared at him for a long time, with that smug little grin that made Basch's stomach flutter, uneasily, and his fingers curl tight in his palms to keep back images of himself pushing the brat over said desk and fucking out that irritating self-satisfaction. Deep breath. He was sure he was blushing. Distracted, he blinked when Ffamran only chuckled, velvety and low. "But nothing. Give that here."

When Basch didn't move, Ffamran grabbed the blank paper from his elbow, filched a pen from the cup at the desk, leant one cheek on a palm and began to fill in the paper, his expression bored, as though doing nothing any more difficult than a details form. When he was done, he pushed the paper back, and Basch didn't need to look at it to know it was likely better even than the supplementary answer. Genius-level analysis abilities _with_ a bloody photographic memory.

"I could still fail you," Basch muttered.

"By all means," Ffamran grinned, his chin now cradled in both palms. "Make me repeat the subject. You aren't teaching history for year twelves, are you?"

The unwelcome impression he had from Ffamran's behavior was coalescing fast. "Ffamran. Are you purposefully doing this so you can…" He couldn't voice the _spend time with me_, but Ffamran's grin melted quickly into a lazy, flirtatious smirk, and he had his answer. "You are my _student_."

"Willing to be your student in all manner of learning," Ffamran purred, and Basch shifted uncomfortably as that sparked an answering twitch between his thighs from his bloody traitorous body. He was saved when the door was opened without knocking, which told him his savior in question was his brother. His relief faltered a little when Noah's usual irritable expression that accompanied a _haven't you bloody finished marking yet_ slipped into a frown, with something angry in the eyes that Basch had never quite seen before, directed at himself. Taken aback, he didn't greet his brother, but Ffamran pushed away from the desk with a playful salute. "And the other Mister Ronsenburg. _Good _afternoon."

"Should you still be here?" Noah was annoyed at something, and it showed in his voice. Confused, Basch stared at him, questioning, and received an unfriendly glance for his trouble.

"I needed to know why Ffamran refused to do the paper," Basch said, and frowned again, as his brother took in a deep breath and the irritation seemed redirected to Ffamran, the very picture of innocence now, in wide-eyes and even his poise, fingers tangled behind his back.

"Ffamran."

"I just got the lecture from your twin. I know." Ffamran went back to his desk and shouldered his sleek black sling bag. "See you tomorrow, Mister Ronsenburg."

"Bye," Basch muttered, relieved. And then gaped, as Ffamran, when brushing past Noah to the door, caught his brother's chin and pulled him down for a kiss that had _too_ much tongue, the answering growl from Noah with a little _too_ much hunger. It ended in Noah's lower lip caught for a knowing moment too long between white teeth, then Ffamran broke away and shot him an inviting little _this could be you _smirk with the tip of a pink tongue swiping over that sensuous mouth, as his brother was busy taking strangled breaths. Then he waved another mocking salute and slipped out of the classroom.

It was only when Basch could no longer hear receding footsteps that he finally was able to speak, hissing, "Noah!"

Noah sighed, wearily, and leaned against the closed door, arms folded. "I admit it _is _bloody stupid of me."

Basch looked down at the papers. "We'll talk at home."

--

"When did he start… flirting with you?" Noah asked, when they were home in their modest shared apartment, differences forgotten in the drive back. It was Basch's turn to cook, and Noah sat at the kitchen table, seemingly calmer.

"When I happened to walk past the gym to see if you were done for the day," Basch said, as mildly as he could. "He saw me staring."

"It's the damned tiny red shorts," Noah agreed, his gaze drifting to the 'fridge with its multicolored tacks and layered armor of yellowing papers. "They're a trial. But usually, well, you know, I have never, with students…"

"I know," Basch said, gently. Close as they were twins, neither had really managed to keep secret of their relationships for long, nor did they care to. Come to think of it, he had rather suspected Noah of having someone new of late, but didn't want to pressure his brother into confessing. "Ffamran is something else."

"That he is." Noah pinched the bridge of his nose. "And in my defense it wasn't because of gym. I was in the locker rooms sorting out stuff after hours, when the air rifle team came in after using the showers, and I didn't think my expression changed any when he walked past with only a towel, but he _smirked_ then, and…" Noah sighed.

"After that, fuck if I know how he always seemed to know where I was, but he'd corner me in storerooms and things, and…" his brother shook his head, slowly. "And then I got _involved_."

"Ah." Basch knew what 'involved' meant, between them. "At least you didn't, then."

"Give my intelligence a little more credit," Noah said dryly. "Making out with a student is one thing, fucking him is another. Which brings me to the point. Either he's using you, to try and force the issue, or he's using both of us."

"He's seventeen," Basch said, as he checked the boiling spaghetti and the simmering meat sauce. "Manipulation of that sort should really be beyond his years, shouldn't it?"

Noah shrugged. "When did prodigies change out of just being kids who were great at math and the piano?"

--

Basch knew something was wrong once he saw the beer bottles on the table before the couch, and wrinkled his nose at the strong scent of alcohol. His growing suspicion solidified quickly as he noticed the haphazard trail of discarded clothes leading from the couch to his brother's bedroom. Some of the articles were familiar in all the wrong ways…

He went quickly to the sideboard to pour himself a steadying drink of brandy, and flinched at the muffled but still identifiable sound of his brother's voice, behind the door, husky and slurred. "Fuck, you're tight."

And that was unmistakably Ffamran's mischievous laugh, if low and strained, then nothing, just as Basch tried very hard to pretend he hadn't just heard evidence of fiduciary and ethical breaches. When he finished the brandy, the first in the series of hitching, pretty little moans became audible, each breath with a coda of obscenity or a plea, Noah's answering growls threaded with growing desperation. The rhythm of the bed's thumps against the wall and the wet sounds was beginning to escalate when Basch pointedly shut himself in the shower with the closest clothes he could grab from his wardrobe and turned on the cold tap to drown out the insistent images of Ffamran spread in any number of erotic positions.

He came out of the shower only when his teeth began to chatter, drying his hair and shivering. The sounds had ended a while ago with a final, loud groan from his brother and a cry of rapture from his student. Basch was considering what to read that would definitely put him abed when the door to his brother's room opened and Ffamran slipped out, caramel hair mussed and still so desirable in his just-fucked dishevelment, dressed in one of Noah's shirts and nothing else.

The boy looked at him soberly, for a moment, with eyes far older than seventeen, then at the bottles, and inclined his head. "Sorry about the mess."

"Your… your father?" Basch caught himself just before he said 'parents', remembering a detail on Ffamran's form. The boy's mother was deceased.

"Dad's caught up in the labs today. He's working on a breakthrough that would probably take him a little closer to a Chemistry Nobel, or Biology, depending on whatever he can keep his mind on for more than a couple of weeks," Ffamran's voice was flat, devoid of his usual mischief. "Hey, I'm going to borrow your shower."

"Ffamran." Basch said, before he could stop himself, then when the boy raised an eyebrow, found he couldn't continue. There was too much wrong with this piece of the jigsaw, and he couldn't find a way to start. "You're seventeen. You shouldn't…"

He had said quite the wrong thing. Ffamran's eyes narrowed, and his expression darkened, then the wicked smirk was back, and the boy stalked towards him, predatory, his teeth bared. "And you 'adults' know everything that's good and normal for 'us kids', hm? Just because you're what, ten, twelve years older? I'll handle father talk from my dad, but you…"

Basch found he had been crowded into the wall, the framed portrait of he and his brother's graduation beside his head. Ffamran smelled of sex and a little of beer, though the alcohol had evidently been for his brother's 'benefit', his eyes dark with promise, as he hooked fingers into Basch's collar even as his free hand knowingly patted the older man's groin, warm over too-thin cotton pajamas. A groan escaped him, as his prick stirred, cold showers be damned, and he quickly grabbed Ffamran's wrists. "Ffamran!"

Ffamran's expression was grim, icy, even. "I could have you anytime I want, Mister Ron_sen_burg. So I'm not going to take any of the 'you're seventeen' bullshit from you."

Stunned from the venom in that pronouncement, Basch stared at Ffamran jerked his hands out of his grip and stalked away towards the shower.

--

Basch was terrible at subterfuge, and for all he tried to pretend he hadn't seen anything the night before, given how Ffamran was gone come the morning, Noah rolled his eyes as he scraped a portion fried eggs, bacon and sausages onto his brother's plate, and then his own. "All right. Give it to me."

"Give you what?"

"The lecture about stupidity and duties to students. Let's hear it." His brother put the pan back on the stove to cool, and added water, then folded himself into the chair. "Nothing I didn't feel like kicking myself about when I woke up, I bet. With a hangover on top of it. And I won't give excuses, I should have known better."

Basch hesitated, wondering whether to tell his brother what happened after, and settled for a, "Did you sleep immediately afterwards?"

"Well, yes," Noah looked embarrassed, to his credit. "I was rather drunk. Didn't see him go. Why?"

"Ah… I ran into him when he was coming out for the shower," Basch said, studying his brother's expression carefully. When there was only curiosity (and, his poor brother, suspicious jealousy that Noah couldn't quite hide), he decided not to tell. "It was a shock."

"Ah." Noah picked at the eggs, lowering his head. "Sorry. It… well, it just happened. Never again. Promise. I intend on talking to him about it today. I know this can't… shouldn't continue."

Basch sighed, recalling the flat statement. "He's really something. I doubt his head's screwed on all that right."

"What makes you say that?" Defensive, now.

"Genius aside, what sort of person would seduce someone and then openly flirt with the twin brother?"

"Any number of reasons," Noah muttered, though Basch knew his brother had immediately grasped the point. "Juvenile attempts at creating jealousy. Attention-seeking. Flaunting. Hell, maybe he just likes the twins thing. You know it won't have been the first time for us."

"And has he given you any indication that it could have been any of those reasons?" Basch inquired. "Any indication that it could be because of a streak of immaturity?"

"… no." Noah said, finally, and viciously sliced toast. "Then what do you think? Why would someone with genius-level IQ try to seduce his schoolteachers?"

"He doesn't like adults, or authority figures," Basch said, taking a sip of coffee. "It's something to do with that, I'm sure."

"And what makes you think so?"

Under direct questioning, Basch sighed, and told Noah what had happened, carefully omitting Ffamran's last actions and words. From the suspicion on his twin's face he could tell Noah knew he hadn't told him everything, but wasn't going to press the issue.

--

"Ffamran, can you stay back after class, please?" Basch didn't look up as he said this, when giving out another assignment a week after. The class didn't react: Ffamran was called out often after classes, either because of his personality or academic consultation.

The boy didn't blink, only rolling his shoulders in a bored shrug, slouching in his chair as the rest of the class filed out after the bell. "What is it?"

"I don't know what my brother may have done to annoy you," Basch said quietly, "But could you leave him well alone?"

"What makes you think I'll listen to you?" Ffamran wondered out aloud, though there was something cold in the set jaw that undermined the mischief. Noah had apparently tried to break things off with Ffamran, as politely and gently as possible, but the boy had flat-out simply laughed. As much as it seemed comical that a slender boy could harass Noah, his brother's self control in the matter seemed fairly questionable, when cornered.

Basch shrugged. "I don't expect you to. But I'll like you to know I meant nothing patronizing, when referring to your age. You're certainly considerably more mature than some adults I do know."

"Starting with flattery is good, but suspicious," Ffamran drawled. "But your appeal to my ego seems to have worked. I'm listening."

"Whatever you're trying to prove, or whatever gap you're trying to fill, it's not worth it," Basch said, with as much conviction as he could muster. "Treating yourself like this. If you aren't happy in high school you should just transfer. It's evident that the material is far too simple for you."

"How would you shoot a gun, Basch?" Ffamran asked the non sequitur very mildly.

"Er. I'll aim, then pull the trigger," Basch replied, blinking. "Ffamran, I was saying…"

"This is how I shoot a rifle," Ffamran interrupted. "There is a small angle of trajectory. I calculate distance, speed, angle, incline and recoil, then fire, all without thinking about it."

"So you're a hell of a lot smarter than the average person," Basch was slow to anger, but Ffamran was beginning to irritate him. "That does not give you the right to toy with others."

"No, it doesn't," Ffamran said, in the same flat tone he had heard one week before, that night. "But perhaps you will better understand the analogy when I tell you now, that it is only in the most uncomplicated act between any two people do I feel like any other person. Normal."

He wasn't quite sure how to reply to _that_, and settled for a somewhat lame, "Regardless…"

"I _am_ willing to exchange favors, though," Ffamran was all sly grins again. "You for your brother."

Basch swallowed. "I can't. _And_," he added quickly, when Ffamran seemed set to liberally drown that in sarcasm, "I do not appreciate your motives. There are other, better and less destructive ways, to feel, well, like everyone else. Normal."

"Show me, then," Ffamran spread his arms, "And I'll count that ample favor."

"All right," Basch said, relieved. He felt he had gotten off that easily: then he stiffened, as Ffamran rolled to his feet with a dancer's grace, and padded over to the desk. Wrapped fingers around his gray tie, and pulled him close before he could jerk away.

"I warn you though, Mister Ronsenburg," Ffamran whispered, and God, those eyes were really too-pretty, when they smoldered so with promise, "I never play fair."

-fin-


	2. Textures in the Dark

[A/N: Since I'm doing something about AU conventions, there's no necessity that any of the premises have to be original. In any case, it is my belief that no fiction under the sun can be truly new! Fics originally supposed to be just Basch x Balthier, but… Noah seems to have this tendency to sneak into my work nowadays, ever since Photoshoot. NOTE: Vossler was left out of this fic, because it got too complicated otherwise.

Dark Mirrors

[Part 2 for aefallen, who loves this sort of AU

2 'Character Physically Different' AU': Blindness

Basch x Balthier, Gabranth x Balthier

Textures in Darkness

To Balthier, the large, silent man who stood near-constantly at the Princess' side was an intriguing puzzle. Basch fon Ronsenburg, the supposed Dalmascan king-slayer, ex-Captain of the Knight-Order, was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed at the moment in a haphazard assortment of leather and plate and scale, likely cobbled together from flagging Resistance stores. The tight-fitting red vest-jacket was too small for him, but it showed off the broad chest and the muscular shoulders (and how odd, after the two year confinement, but Balthier was happy to let that slide).

All things considered, he thought, as he padded behind, taking up the rear of their esoteric party, he would likely have proceeded to seduce the man long before, had it not been for the biggest curiosity about Basch. The journey was getting somewhat boring, and wasn't particularly profitable, and even Fran had voiced reserves in private about their involvement. It was, he would admit (and he did so, to her), that very curiosity about Basch that stayed his wings.

The man was blind. Two old scars marred otherwise strikingly handsome features: one running from the middle of his forehead down to his left ear, and one that looked more painfully deliberate, in a vertical slash down his right eye. Basch kept a piece of cloth tightly bandaged over both eyes at all times that Balthier could discern: a rag was in place even when the sky pirate had first encountered the man, deep in Nalbina. Probably something pathological there, or perhaps the scar tissue was truly gruesome; Balthier had no real curiosity on that matter. Despite his disability, or perhaps because of it, Basch seemed to surround himself at all times with an iron dignity and calm.

The issue about Basch that did fascinate him was the man's uncanny sense of his surroundings, despite his blindness. Balthier couldn't figure out exactly what it was that made Basch such a deadly guard despite his blindness: surely he did not have a Viera's hearing, and besides, he was sure that if Fran ever had to fight blindfolded she would still not have the battle-sense that Basch possessed. Flawless parries and blocks and dodges. It was fascinating.

The party relaxed as they stepped into the wind-sheltered ravine leading towards the Temple atop Mount Bur-Omisace, and Basch sidestepped a backpedaling, coltish chocobo without even turning his head in its direction. He sheathed his blade, lowered his shield, and fell into step behind the Princess. She glanced back.

There was always a little sorrow in Ashe's eyes when she looked at her knight. She had first been furious, of course, when first encountering him again, but the two scars stayed her hand. Her anger ebbed quickly, and her "Oh, _Basch_, what have they done to you?" was whisper-quiet. When Basch had replied, simply, "My liege," she had rubbed her eyes, sharply, and never brought the matter up again.

Now she glanced from Basch to the children, who were bent, hands on their knees, panting over the hard trek up the mountain, part of it through a blizzard, shivering and tired. "A little bit more, and we can rest."

"Great. I could sleep for a _week_," Vaan groaned. "My feet are so sore. And I hope there's lots and lots of hot food."

"We don't have a week, Vaan," Penelo chided, but was too out of breath herself to look up to Ashe to complete her apology.

Ashe hadn't noticed, distracted, her gaze traveling away, up the ravine. The ancient rock kept out some of the chill, but her jaw set as she looked over the number of refugees, product of the war, that huddled in its shadows and talked amongst each other, dispirited and homeless. Pulling her wool cloak more tightly over her shoulders, she took in a breath, and started forward, followed by Basch, the children scrambling after her.

Fran stayed by her partner's side, as Balthier stretched, yawned, shouldered his rifle, and strolled after them, unhurried. "Balthier."

"Mm?" Balthier arched an eyebrow at her, as the others ambled on further. The chatter from the refugees and the loud whistles of icy wind overhead would drown out their words.

"You seek the blind one," Fran's words were always as uncompromising as the weather. Viera never waste words, for all that they are a long-lived race.

Balthier tucked his thumbs into his belts, as they passed a family of five, the mother looking helpless as she tried to bandage her daughter's frostbitten fingers. Most of the refugees appeared to have fled here with few provisions and gear: even though the priests were doing the best they could, supplies were obviously stretched thin. They would not last the winter, were the war to stretch. "Aye, what of it?"

"He is not quite living," Fran said, typically cryptic. "He has walked too much in the dark, I think. His heart beats no faster even when we kill."

"I should think having someone tie you down and put out an eye must do wonders for your state of mind," Balthier looked over the edge of the drop, from the manicured shrubs lining the walkways to the sheer drop down into the clouds. The seat of power of the Priest-Dukes obscured the rest of the world with pristine white: Balthier thought this both amusing and ironic.

"I have warned you," Fran rolled one delicate shoulder in a shrug. "Play with this one at your own risk, pirate."

"I just wish to speak with him a little," Balthier said, as innocently as he could. "He _is_ quite the curiosity."

"And it is your cat's curiosity, that gets us most into trouble," Fran chided, but there was only wry affection in her reproach.

"I can see the storm coming," Balthier inclined his head at the swelling crowds of shivering refugees that crowded the natural stair to the Temple. "I know we must soon leave south, or be dragged down by the winds of war."

"Keep that well in mind when you choose your playthings, Balthier."

--

By nightfall, after a frugal dinner of dried fruit and meat with bowls of unidentifiable vegetables, Balthier was fairly bored. He was also a little hungry, but that would pass: he knew that supplies were stretched tight at this point. Fran had disappeared, and the children were busy pestering the cook; Ashe and Larsa were still at conference with the Gran Kiltias.

He busied himself for all of five minutes looking up at the half-moon, stark and clear this high atop the clouds, then unbuckled his leather vest to pull on one of the heavier blue wool acolyte's robes. The effect was somewhat incongruous and definitely unfashionable, but their travel cloaks were stained, and he would risk indignity over freezing to death.

One had to be well prepared when engaging in a bored pirate's first avenue of entertainment (thievery) after all, and these old temples were likely to have _something_ interesting.

His conviction in this regard lessened considerably after an hour spent wandering aimlessly about the massive building. The architecture was beautiful in a stark way, with economical arches and austere, pristine balconies swept clean by meditating acolytes. They gave him nary a glance as he passed, human and Helgas alike. Nothing about that would even be worth exerting the effort to purloin.

Balthier was following a rock garden with its carefully swept pebbles, deeper into the Temple complex, when he saw Basch sitting cross-legged, head bowed, in an adjoining building with a sloping roof left open to the garden, built on a platform suspended over the pebbles. He looked asleep, and the robe draped over his shoulders was slipping.

Shaking his head, the sky pirate padded closer, as noiselessly as he could, until he stood before Basch. The platform was low, and this put him at face level with Basch's scarred features. He reached out to pull the robe more firmly over Basch, and had to bite down a yelp as callused fingers clamped tightly over his wrist.

"Who's there?" Basch's free hand groped to the hilt of his blade, placed at his side.

Balthier chuckled. "If it was an old monk who had harbored similar notions of charity, you may have caused a heart-attack."

Basch let out a breath, and let go of his fingers, dropping his head. "I beg pardon." His breath painted white puffs in the crisp air.

The sky pirate pulled himself up onto the platform beside the older man, tucking his feet under his thighs. "Rather remote place to chance death from exposure."

"I was meditating," Basch said mildly. "I know the way back."

"Been here before?"

"Aye. The Knight-Order was once an arm of the Priesthood." Basch shrugged. "I trained here, once."

"Was once…?" Balthier inquired. He was not particularly curious, but this was more words than he had ever heard Basch say over the space of a day. Perhaps the silence and the natural dark brought out the man's tongue.

"The Knight-Order was meant simply to keep harmony for Kiltia, to go where the Dreamsages needed. Then the war came, and we splintered. Many of us left to defend Dalmasca." Basch looked sightlessly over the pebbles, as though through time to past days. "I find this place calming."

"You radiate much of that even normally, Captain."

"Basch," Basch corrected, almost absently. A small smile twitched at the very edges of his lips. "And… indeed? That is good." The soft note of relief piqued Balthier's interest.

"I should think it natural to a warrior of your ability." Flattery, in Balthier's experience, tended to be a useful gauge of another's personality, and it did occasionally have the benefit of rapport.

Basch did not reply, fingering instead with his free hand the tassel on the end of the longsword by his side, picking at the strands. Finally, he spoke with the emotionless tone of recital. "Knights of the Order used to have to learn how to fight blind, to help learn balance and posture."

"It would take more than that, surely, to have the will to actually do so. After being just freed from deleterious circumstances."

The older man set his jaw, then. "Is there something you are trying to tell me, Balthier?"

"No," Balthier did his best to sound a little injured. "I was merely curious about a traveling companion."

"Oh." Basch's cheeks flushed pink, visible even from the dim lanterns suspended above them. "I must beg your pardon again. I… well, it appears confinement has shortened my temper."

Balthier was reminded of Fran's words, but kept them to himself. Basch, in any case, continued to talk. "I admit to being curious about the rest of you, as well. Lady Ashe, I know well. Fran I know is of the Viera."

"I am a sky pirate," Balthier cocked his head. That was indeed the beginning and the end of him, at this point in his life, and it suited him so.

"Ah…" Basch seemed as though he was on the verge of rephrasing his question, but decided against it. "No matter."

"What is it?" The younger man smirked. "If you continue insisting that it is indeed of little consequence, I _will_ pester you."

"I wanted to see what you looked like," Basch said, if reluctantly, and only after another pause. "You have a beautiful voice."

"That's the first compliment of that ilk I have heard," Balthier looked at the long-fingered hands, folded stiffly over thighs, and picked up the left one. Basch did not resist, but his shoulders tensed, and his lips parted, then thinned, as the sky pirate pressed his palm to his cheek. "Go ahead," he added, when the older man hesitated.

Callused pads moved tentatively over his skin, stroking the fine arch of the cheekbones, then following the curve of trimmed sideburns. Basch's touch was slow, mapping the line of his jaw and up the curve to the edges of lips. Balthier made sure to keep perfectly still, even as he knew the gentleness was more reverence than a fear that the sky pirate may pull back at any time. Basch's posture spoke that much, as he shifted to face Balthier, bringing up his other hand to card fingers carefully through short-cropped hair, then drop to the shell of his ear, tracing the piercings. Balthier closed his eyes briefly as thumbs stroked tenderly over his lashes, the rasp not uncomfortable; a lover's gentleness.

"Verdict?" he asked, playfully, when Basch pulled his hands away, to curl them in his own robes.

Basch tilted his head, then lowered it, his lip quirking into a self-conscious, lopsided smile. "I am sure many have told you how striking you look, in prettier words than I can gather."

"You can tell that just from touch?"

"Symmetry," Basch explained. "And in any regard, your natural confidence affirms as much. Though… what color are your eyes, and hair?"

"Boring, I am afraid. Brown." Mischief and curiosity over Fran's statement made Balthier sidle closer, almost pressing up against the other man. He could feel the heat from him, especially delicious in the night's chill, and he whispered into the older man's ear. "Want to 'see' any more?"

Long fingers were white-knuckled in the robes, as Basch frowned under the scarf over his eyes. "You torment a blind man, Balthier."

"And how am I doing so?" Balthier was genuinely taken aback by the sudden ice.

"If 'tis pity, I do not want it. If 'tis mischief, I do not need it," The older man replied stiffly, slipping down from the platform to the stone garden, grabbing his blade as he did so. "I bid you good night."

"Two years of being caged, and you want for nothing?" Balthier wondered out loud, then grimaced, when Basch's features visibly darkened in anger.

"Only for a little peace, which seems sorely lacking." With that, Basch stalked off towards the main Temple complex, evidently intimately familiar with the structure. If not for the occasional uncertain hand stretched out for the newly built rails of the platform back up to the main corridor, Balthier would not have thought him blind.

His scientific fascination about Basch's surety was such that Balthier only registered that he had been quite flatly rejected when he was alone under the dark.

--

Fran was equally uncompromising, when Balthier complained to her afterwards. She sat primly up against the open window, seemingly immune to the chill. Balthier knew better than to ask her to close the blinds: she needed the scent of the fresh breeze in a visceral way beyond Hume comprehension.

"I did not mean by my words that he would be disinterested."

"Then?" Balthier was curled in the bed with as many blankets as he could pile without suffocating. He knew he was being ungracious, but Fran was well accustomed to both his ego and his moods.

"His heartbeat does not change when he kills. He is a natural killer. Such men you would do well not to toy with." Fran took a deep breath of the chill air, her wild white mane silk about her shoulders. "We should go south."

"In little more," Balthier murmured, mulling Fran's words over. He knew from experience that her criticism was often difficult to accept, yet ultimately sound.

"Balthier," Fran signed. "You are young yet. Curb your curiosity."

"You do not like what he is?"

"It is not in the nature of your kind to kill this easily," Fran said absently. "Those who can are... _d'ia vas'henyan_. Dark mirrors."

"Poetic."

"And you are to be stubborn for all my efforts." Fran sounded more resigned than annoyed.

"Rest assured I would take all proper precautions." Balthier grinned, cocky and confident. "And besides, if we do have a falling out, we will go south all the sooner."

"As long as this falling out of yours does not involve bladework," Fran sniffed, "For that is not your strong point, _a'chere_." The term of affection showed Fran's wry acknowledgment of his decision, though without her tacit approval.

"You wound me, my dear."

--

A blizzard kept delayed their departure the next day. Ashe stared at the heavy white curtain that shifted and roared with the winds, shivered, grumbled under her breath, and turned away from the balcony of the communal room of the guest complex. Basch took a step to fall in behind her, but she touched fingers gently to his arm.

"Stay here and rest, Basch. I am but going to ask Larsa if we should trouble the Gran Kiltias again for another conference."

"I should accompany you, my liege."

"Basch," Ashe shook her head, even though she knew her knight could not see it, "You have been pushing yourself since Nalbina. You have not quite fully recovered from your ordeal. Also, you appear weary to me, of late."

"That..." Basch seemed to pull himself short, before a confession. "I am fine, my Lady."

"Also," Ashe lowered her voice, even though they were both alone in the communal room, "Your presence appears to trouble Larsa. He does not hide this quite so well."

"Ah. I understand," Basch bowed his head in assent, if reluctantly, and then tensed as small fingers pressed gently on the blindfold, between his ruined eyes.

"I wish the Sun-Cryst could heal wounds." Ashe murmured, more a young girl's sentiment there, than the Queen of Dalmasca. "Turn back time. Those who did this to you..."

"What is done is done." Basch's voice spoke only with the unconcerned calm of a man long used to rolling with life's heavy blows. Ashe bit her lower lip, glancing away to the single, unadorned sandalwood table of the communal room, but did not speak further. There was little point.

"What good is a stone of power that brings only destruction?" The young Queen sighed then, apparently shaking herself out of her malaise. "I will seek Larsa. You should rest."

"As you wish, my liege."

--

The guest rooms were small, and made Basch restless in their confinement, and besides, he could not sleep well; had never, since he had lost his right eye. He sat instead on the plain benches of the communal room, meditating. The disciplined calm of the exercise helped, as long as he didn't linger overlong on the owner of that silky little purr of a voice. Balthier.

He felt he knew exactly why he harbored this particular inappropriate and ill-placed infatuation. Animals that had been victim to long-term abuse tended to attach themselves to anyone who first showed them any form of kindness, however brief, afterwards. Humans were not so different. Balthier was the first human in two years to have treated him with any measure of respect and regard.

But whatever the sky pirate's intent was, now… if it was pity, his pride would not permit it. If it was mischief or boredom, it was not worth it. He knew despite Ashe's reservations that Balthier and Fran were unlikely to tag along with them for too long; the concerns of his liege were fetters on their ilk, who paid no heed to kings and queens. And given choice, what could he possibly have or be as a ghost of a man known as a traitor, so horribly maimed? It was likely all Balthier sought was the relative novelty of sleeping with a blind man, if his attentions even ran that far.

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts, along with a muffled sound of fabric. Muttered curses in the Archadian tongue informed Basch that the person in question was Balthier, sleepy and irritable, likely with blankets drawn across his shoulders. The mental image was immediately adorable, even as sounds told him that Balthier was settling on the bench right next to him, elbows on the table.

A scrape and shadows told him that the pirate was likely inspecting the array of fruit in the earthenware bowl. Basch was not precisely blind: his right eye had been put out, but the damage to his left had been an accident, and it was partially healed. Through it, he could distinguish shapes through light and dark, but little else.

"Is this breakfast?"

Basch hesitated, then nodded. Ashe had elected earlier not to wake the others, after seeing the blizzard, and it was early yet. "Perhaps if you spoke to the cook, you might be able to get some bread."

"I cannot _wait_ to get back to civilization," Balthier complained. His next comment explained the petulance. "This damned place has no coffee. Not even any _tea_."

Balthier was evidently not a morning person. Basch carefully internalized the involuntary smile his lips curled into. "Monks and Priests are not given to material comforts."

"Caffeine isn't a material comfort, it's a bloody _necessity_." The sky pirate crunched into an apple, mumbling again in Archadian under his breath. "Are we leaving today? I thought we were."

"There is a blizzard outside." Basch had to struggle not to be enthralled by that voice, even husky and irritable from caffeine withdrawal.

"Fuck. I expect they still would not have coffee tomorrow."

"That would be a logical inference," Basch couldn't help it then: he began to chuckle. Balthier growled at him, and he knew that fine-boned face was likely drawn in an irritated frown. "You have gone a few days without caffeine. I did not smell any in the mornings, on our journey here."

"Yes, well, my body expects it when I am in any form of civilization, and it seems convinced this remote Temple fits the description."

Despite his best efforts, his previous conviction to ignore the damn pirate was quickly ebbing. Basch let out a breath, and tried to pull back into meditation before he could give himself away.

No such luck: Balthier was talking again. "I wanted to apologize about last night, if you took offense. I think I likely misinterpreted your actions."

"My actions?"

"Well. What you did with your hands. I assumed it meant you had an interest on this side of the fence." Balthier's tone was all too carefully light.

Basch hesitated. If he agreed, it was likely he would no longer be subject to the pirate's attentions, which were painful to consider in context, even if they held no malice. If he was honest and did not, he would never have a chance. But then, he told himself sharply, he never did anyway. Maimed, a traitor, and far too old, with nothing to his name.

Balthier chuckled softly before he could come up with a feasible answer. "You are one of those people who find it very difficult to lie, are you not? You want to agree, but you can't."

"I do not want anything ephemeral or born from a wish to do something novel," Basch said, finally.

The sky pirate's tone was incredulous. "Nothing ephemeral? It falls to me to point out to you, Basch, that you are part of a very unlikely crusade, going up against the might of an Empire. The probability of survival is low, let alone success."

"If death was its end, then let that be so," Basch replied evenly, "Not loss of interest, or flying to other climes, when you bore of Lady Ashe's cause."

"Feh." The younger man sounded dismissive. "You are a soldier, Basch. Ephemeral relationships cannot be unfamiliar to you."

"Not like this."

"Like what?"

Basch bit his lip hard, before he could say too much. _Not like this, where I would spend the rest of my likely short life, when you tire and leave, wanting you, wondering where you are, imagining your touch in the dark._

Again the pause was far too long. Basch flinched when he felt Balthier rest his cheek on his shoulder. The heat from the younger man's body, this close, in this weather, was delicious, and he had to suppress a shudder. "It is not as bad as you think, if that is what concerns you."

"I beg pardon?"

"This." And cool fingers were tracing the scar over his right eye, down over the blindfold to his cheek, then the other, ending with a thumb stroking over the scarred ridge left on his ear. "That. And as to scar tissue, I _am_ a pirate. I have likely seen worse."

"Ah." He blushed, that someone like Balthier could find him even passing attractive, but shook off the hand as it trailed down to his neck. "No, t'was not that."

"Two years in a cage appears to have caused you to think overmuch about simple matters."

His retort to that was cut off, when Balthier deftly sidled into his lap and pulled him into a kiss, fingers curled around his skull and shoulder to prevent him from jerking away. Basch gasped, shocked by the assault, and Balthier took that opportunity to purr, and push his tongue into his mouth. It took several heartbeats before Basch was aware that he was growling as he sucked greedily on the invading tongue. Apples and spice. His hands crept up leather-clad thighs, one to splay over the small of Balthier's back, the other curled over a hip, and growls turned quickly into low, broken moans. The sky pirate wore no shirt under the blanket over his shoulders, and the warm muscle was velvety. Desperation. Deprivation. Balthier bit down on his lip and his mind conceded coherence.

When they broke for air, a choked "_please_" escaped him before he managed to lock his throat back under control, ducking his head to take deep breaths. That was a far too disproportionate response to a mere kiss, and he knew he was flushed with embarrassment.

The attempt to recover any form of dignity was futile, with a warm weight over his thighs, and fingers threading through his hair, Balthier panting somewhere against his left scar, amused, his voice husky and inviting. "Would you count that torment, Basch?"

"Yes, when you may be gone today, tomorrow."

"I may be gone today, or tomorrow, or I may not," Balthier agreed, now tickling fingers down sideburns to his haphazardly trimmed beard. "But I will always come back where there's treasure."

"After all this." He did not dare hope.

"Aye. There would be much unfinished between us. Assuming you survive." Basch felt Balthier grin against his forehead. "I would not be so crass as to try and poach you at this point."

"Forgive me if I still find this hard to believe," Basch said doubtfully.

"Well, the blizzard has provided us with an ample window, that I fully intend to use to rectify that sentiment. That is, if nothing similar to this happened to your equipment." The sky pirate traced his right scar again, this time with the pad of his thumb.

"_Balthier!_" A bubble of shocked laughter escaped him, which sparked an answering snigger.

"What, nothing? How unimaginative. I would have rather thought-" Balthier paused as Basch heard the unmistakable and unwelcome footsteps of company. "Oh, hello there, children. If you wanted breakfast you are in quite the wrong room."

"Balthier, you're… Basch, you're…" Vaan stammered, and the sky pirate made another wicked laugh that sounded quite like a snicker.

"We are both very comfortable, thank you."

"Sorry to interrupt!" That was Penelo, her voice in a squeak, and two sets of footsteps faded quickly.

Basch was in the middle of wishing the ground would swallow him, when the pirate's laugher developed into rich tones that shook the younger man's shoulders.

"We, we should, er…"

"Move to your allocated chambers, where I should thoroughly investigate if _this_," Balthier rolled his hips with sure and salacious intent, teasing out a groan, "Is in proper working order."

Basch gave up to inevitability. He wanted this too much, now, to listen to what his mind told him, and if the pirate was indeed gone tomorrow; well, perhaps t'was better to have the memory of transient pleasures, than spend the few nights before his probable death mulling over difficult choices. His answer was a growl, then a soft gasp, when Balthier rubbed his cheek against his palm, and nipped at the pads of his fingers.

-fin-

Notes:

Also playing with POVs in this piece, in case you're wondering why characterisation seems to keep shifting.

First 3 sections in Balthier's POV, tried to make his sense of mischief clear, as well as his affection for Fran. Next section Ashe, curt and distracted. Last section Basch, whose opinion of Balthier may be affected too much by his infatuation. Also, the poor man's self control seems terrible.


	3. Buried Secrets

[A/N: I have 2-3 ideas for the next AU but this one struck me as the most fun, atm.

Dark Mirrors

3 Where one character doesn't die

Gabranth x Balthier[eventual Basch x Balthier

Gabranth chuckled when the very first thing he heard upon being escorted into the Master wing of the Bunansa estate was Ffamran's voice, raised in protest. At his side, the old butler Olfen's expression did not change, a calm mask over parchment-thin skin, as he led the way down a wide, plushly carpeted corridor to Ffamran's room.

The door was open, and the large room was in an even greater mess than usual. Clothes were scattered over the few heavy red-oak chairs, the bed, and the dresser, and several piles of esoteric books had been unceremoniously pushed aside. The wardrobe was open, and in disarray. Beside him, he could feel Olfen tense, though nothing showed in his dour features. "Master Cid, Lady Liadrin, Master Ffamran, Judge-Magister Gabranth."

Liadrin had already bustled up to the door before Olfen had finished his ponderous introduction. Lady Bunansa was a small, pretty half-Rozarrian, half-Archadian, with a wealth of jet black hair currently tied in a thick mane behind her neck bound in whorls of white ribbons, her almond-doe eyes inquisitive and delighted. "Gabranth! What a surprise! Are you staying for dinner?"

"I could," Gabranth conceded, peering behind Ffamran's mother to the young Judge, who was definitely sulking, standing next to an open suitcase. Cidolfus Bunansa was cross-legged on the bed, as though meditating, and the scientist adjusted his monocle, grinned, and afforded the Judge-Magister a little wave. "What appears to be the problem here?"

"Olfen, get our guest some refreshments, please, and tell Cook he is staying for dinner," Liadrin addressed the butler, who gave Gabranth his usual, watery, not-Bunansa glance of disapproval, bowed, and melted away down the corridors. Gabranth found himself dragged into the room by a woman nearly half his size and marched up to the bed. "Now, Ffamran here is being _difficult_."

Ffamran's glare dared him to agree with his mother. "'Tis about packing for that damned diplomatic excursion, where I am representing Zargabaath's bureau. Mother insists on packing as though I were leaving for decades."

"Don't exaggerate, dear," Liadrin clucked her tongue at him.

"I only need a small suitcase. We are only going there for half a week. And I definitely do _not_ need winter wear, or high-tea wear, or breakfast wear, for I will mostly be kitted in my dress armor." Ffamran's patience had cracked long ago, and it showed in the snappishness of his voice, and the increasing dishevelment of his fine-weave, long-sleeved shirt and starched gray breeches. Adorable. Gabranth was sure the grin on his face matched that on Cidolfus'.

"It can get cold in the desert," Cid ventured benevolently, and winked at Gabranth, when Ffamran rounded on his father with a growl.

"Do not think I will easily forget your complicity in this matter, old man."

"That is not the way to address your father," Liadrin continued packing the soft lambs' wool sweaters into the case despite Ffamran's best efforts.

"Ask Gabranth here how many clothes he will be bringing," Ffamran growled, ignoring the reproach and pointing a finger rather rudely at the Judge-Magister. "I bet you 'tis perhaps three nightshirts, a dress jacket, breeches, and four dress shirts."

That was a correct estimate, but Liadrin's riposte was sharp under her sweet smile. "But you are not Gabranth, dear. He's a-"

"Mother, I am _twenty-two_," Ffamran interrupted quickly before Liadrin could voice something brutal about his masculinity or maturity. Being the only child had its disadvantages.

Cid was not bothering to hide his guffaws, rocking back on the bed, though he calmed down briefly enough to say, "You _did_ sicken during the colds season last year, Ffamran."

"So did _you_." Ffamran bared his teeth in a warning snarl at his father, who smirked back at him.

"I _am_ fifty. What is your excuse, whippersnapper?"

"Defective _genes_," Ffamran growled, and turned to Gabranth with a pleading expression.

He could never face that. Gabranth sighed, and had to exercise all his considerable skills as a mediator, honed from years on the Bench, to reach a compromise, all with the considerable distraction of Cidolfus making sly comments about collars and leashes on the sidelines. Dinner at least was pleasant, with the cook Onroe's artistry in the kitchen: baked a'likan onion soup, oysters, duck confit, and a tangy cinnamon apple tart. Ffamran was surrendered into his custody with a somewhat lighter set of luggage (though still far too much than was really necessary), and spent the ride to the aerodrome in the private cab dozing against him, warm and full.

--

Ffamran woke to grumble under his breath when Imperials put the suitcases in Gabranth's cabin in the _Ifrit_. The Judge-Magister waited until they had left the room before commenting, as mildly as he was able.

"She only worries about you."

"She babies me, and I am no longer a child." Ffamran slumped back on the bed without bothering to pull off his boots. The small bed was barely large enough for the both of them, but space constraints were weighed light against the chance of a day together of absolute free time, so precious a steal from their usual schedules. "It is not as though this is my first trip overseas."

"But not so far as Dalmasca," Gabranth sat beside Ffamran on the bed, his weight dipping down the sheets, and began to work on the laces of his boots. The younger Judge watched him with half-lidded eyes, then curled around his back to rest his cheek on a thigh, rubbing against him with a purr.

"I _am_ glad that Zargabaath happened to think this all a terrible waste of time and resources and refused to leave Chambers."

Gabranth nodded, pulling off a glove to stroke Ffamran's cheek with a thumb. The crotchety old Judge had actually wavered over conflicting duties to Justice and to State, and it had been Gabranth who was quick to advise him, in private, to send his Chief Aide instead. The old Judge-Magister had snorted, showing that he was not fooled at all regarding Gabranth's motives, but had acquiesced.

The Dalmascan War had ended, and Vayne had been named Consul. Accordingly, with a nod to tradition, he had requested two representatives from the Department to attend the ceremony in Rabanastre. Ghis and Drace had pled work, Zecht personal affairs (literally, Gabranth suspected, what with his so-called 'democracy of affection' regarding women), and Bergan was away. Vayne's response when Gabranth had informed him of the final choice had been a knowing smirk at open secrets, but he had agreed. And besides, there was that matter of the favor; the guilt still kept him up the few nights he slept alone…

"Where is Fran?" Ffamran asked drowsily, naming his rather esoteric choice of a best friend, met under random circumstances in Balfonheim (a kitten, a drunken brawl, and piratical songs), as Gabranth crept fingers up breeches to the younger Judge's belt, unbuckling it and carefully pulling it off, to coil it neatly on the side-table. The open-necked shirt was next, and then Gabranth began work on his own shirt and belt.

"She said she would catch up." The older Judge stroked descending circles down Ffamran's flank, only to hear a light snore. Wryly, he gently shifted Ffamran into his arms, then onto a pillow, then drew the slighter frame up against him, before reaching around for the bedside controls to switch the lights off. There was always the morning, and being able to hold his love in peace was often enough. There would be little enough of such luxury in Rabanastre, with its buried secrets.

--

Rabanastre was harshly hot and dry, despite the abundance of refreshments and unobtrusive servants about the Royal Palace where they were quartered, and the cunning pale skeins of soaked cloth that were draped from specially wrought pipe-poles across the arch balconies, that spun each breeze into cool caresses. Ffamran divided his time between complaining about how bloody hot the Chief Aide's plate-and-scarf armor was in the weather, and wearing as little as was decently possible when not required in an official capacity.

At the moment, this meant a pair of indecent pale blue shorts that rode low on his hips and stopped short an inch under the apex of long legs. Ffamran was sprawled on the large bed on his elbows, reading a book borrowed from the Royal Library, nibbling on his tongue: a sure sign that the younger Judge was exerting all of his attention.

Gabranth was glad that Dalmascan customs saw no oddity in relationship between the same sex, unlike hidebound High Archadian social circles, and sat down carefully in clanks of full plate armor on the foot of the bed, peering at the book.

It took a heartbeat before Ffamran dragged walnut-brown eyes away from dusty pages. "Oh. You dressed. Do we have something on?"

"Nothing that needs your attendance, worry not." Gabranth splayed his gloved palm from the nape of Ffamran's elegant neck down the perfect unmarked bow of his back.

The younger man purred, his eyes narrowing. "And it definitely needs _your _attention?"

"Sadly. But only for a short while." Gabranth managed to push all thoughts of buried secrets from his mind when his gloved hand reached the hem of blue shorts. The beginnings of the curve of Ffamran's cleft was just under that, and he stroked one finger over it, watching the plated metal studded to the back of his glove catch briefly on thin fabric. Ffamran squirmed hopefully, then pouted, when Gabranth pulled his hand back, leaned over, and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips instead. "Wait for me. I should be done hours before dinner."

"I could go with you," Ffamran ventured, closing the book and pillowing his head on folded arms laced with wiry muscle.

"No," Gabranth's reply is too quick, and he grimaces inwardly when Ffamran arches an eyebrow. He had to grope quick for a reason. "You complain overmuch in your armor."

"If this does not require my presence, then 'tis none too official; if so, I can wear whatever I like," Ffamran's lips drew into a little quirk that made Gabranth's heart sink. He knew that look all too well: it meant he had awoken the younger man's considerable and often inconvenient curiosity.

He could not let Ffamran anywhere near Nalbina. The other Judge had a streak of compassion that he did not fully manage to hide under his sharp tongue: at the very best, he would misunderstand; at the worst, he would be wroth, and Gabranth did not want to face that where unnecessary.

"Minor business, for Lord Vayne," Gabranth hedged further, using another card that usually signaled Ffamran's immediate boredom, but here, the little quirk only curved wider. _Damnation._

"You _are_ evading, Gabranth, and quite poorly. Come now, what is it?"

"A present." The best he could come up with on short notice.

Ffamran was certainly not fooled; what was worse, mischief was creeping into narrowed eyes. "Oh, that needs you to go about in full armor?"

Gabranth was saved by a light knock on the door in an ascending staccato, that indicated Fran's presence. "I will come back after," he said, kissed the pout, and pulled the folded cottonweave blanket on the pillows over Ffamran's waist.

"Prude." Gabranth was relieved to see Ffamran flip open the book, as though disinterested.

--

"And why are we trailing your mate?" Fran asked patiently, as they kept a discreet distance in the crowds behind Gabranth's entourage. It was somewhat difficult to stalk prey alongside Viera, what with their height and rather blindingly obvious white ears, but Gabranth seemed preoccupied. Curious, very curious.

"Because he is very obviously going to see a secret, which he wishes to shield me from, no doubt likely because of some sort of misplaced chivalry," Ffamran grinned, dressed like a Dalmascan native, with an open vest tooled with semi-precious gems and metal, fawnhide shorts and knee-length strap sandal-boots. He was glad that he had taken the time to maintain a tan in his spare time, hunting in Phon, and did not therefore look too out of place.

"And it does not occur to you that it may upset him for you to see this?"

"Gabranth never stays upset with me for very long," Ffamran retorted, as they sidestepped behind a high-backed stall, as the Archadians turned a corner out into the Central Square. "But my curiosity will eat at me until satisfied."

"They head to the Aerodrome, and I hear a word. 'Nalbina'." Fran mused, her ears twitching. Ffamran did not question her judgment: a Viera's sense of hearing could easily pick out the tramp of heavy armor and the direction it was taking, as well as dialogue in familiar voices. "Therein would be a problem, pirate. I have seen a map of Dalmasca. Nalbina is a long distance, to walk." The term of affection meant Fran's own curiosity was waking, and that she was conditionally agreeing to aid him.

"True. The _Strahl_ is docked aboard the _Ifrit_, and if I know Gabranth he has set guards to inform him if I were to even set foot in the hangar." Ffamran pursed his lips. "What do you suggest?"

"We could hire, but no doubt he has guards posted in the Aerodrome, as well, and t'would be considerably harder to steal into it than out of a crowded, large palace." Fran paused then, and glanced to a side, where two locals were bestride chocobos, ambling down the wide cobblestone avenues. "Hn."

"Oh bloody hell. Not one of _those_." Ffamran hated riding with a fervent passion he normally only reserved for paperwork.

"How much would you sacrifice for your curiosity?" Fran's amusement was palpable, even though she did not smile.

--

They made good time, despite his awkward handling, and arrived in time to hear the Nalbina bazaar fair humming with gossip over the arrival of a Judge-Magister in his horned armor. Ffamran and Fran ducked quickly through the cramped funnel of a street lined with makeshift stalls, and were stopped at the very doors of the Fortress.

The Imperials before it crossed blades. "No entry to locals."

Ffamran glanced at Fran, then rolled his eyes. "This hurts my pride."

"No doubt."

Ffamran reached into his pockets for the identification sandalwood chops: first the one with his family crest, and personal name, then the one with the heavy seal that proclaimed him a Chief Aide. "I am Judge Ffamran Bunansa, here on an official capacity as a representation of Judge-Magister Zargabaath's bureau."

"Sir… sir, we apologize, sir," the Imperials were quick to salute, at least. Ffamran smirked: evidently, Gabranth had not seen fit to brief the guards stationed here. "It is just that, the armor…"

"In this weather? I would rather wear that as little as possible. Now, I regret to say business made me tarry from joining Judge-Magister Gabranth on his business, and I would require an escort to wherever he may be now."

"Of course, sir." One of the Imperials moved to open the massive solid oak double door. "Please follow me."

--

Gabranth quietly cursed his sense of duty and lingering family ties. His brother had been ill-treated since the last time he was here: he could see the angry weals over broad shoulders, scarring over his flank that could only be from candle burns, and there was something stiff about his posture that suggested beatings from something that left no obvious marks. A rubber hose about something metal, perhaps. And of course, that livid scar, from two years ago, over identical eyes that held an iron calm.

He had to concentrate to keep his voice cool. "Lord Vayne needs information about the cell of the Rebellion in Rabanastre."

"It has been two years, brother. Even if I knew, would I tell you?" Basch's voice was a rasp that spoke of minimal water rations.

Gabranth bowed his head, irritated. He knew this was a waste of time; had told Vayne himself. But guilt, anyway, at least, would have pulled his feet hence. "If you cooperated…"

"You would offer me some minimal standard of creature comforts?" Basch's disdain was clear.

"No, but we have heard rumor from informants that the Rebellion intends to stage some ill-conceived form of attack on tonight's festivities. I may be a little more inclined to leniency with any fish we may net with your information."

Basch's expression knit into a frown, at that. A half-shake of the head told Gabranth what Basch's answer would be even before he spoke, but footsteps and a sharp inhalation of breath interrupted him.

He turned quickly on his heel, and a cold pit opened in his belly when he saw the intruder was Ffamran, the younger Judge's eyes wide with astonishment, staring past him at Basch. And yes, as he feared… when Ffamran recovered, his frown was accusing, his voice painfully icy. "This would merit a very good explanation indeed, Judge-Magister Gabranth."

Gabranth settled for glaring at the hapless Imperial guardsman who had led Ffamran here. The man mumbled an apology, saluted, and retreated. Fran shot him a long, unreadable stare, inclined her head, and left, as well. From the slight shift in Basch's posture in his peripheral vision, he knew also that he had just given his brother a potent weapon.

"Ffamran. Not here. I will explain afterwards to you, in full." He could _not_ say 'please' before Basch, but his eyes spoke as much.

Ffamran looked over at Basch as he thought this over, his tone merciless. "Why not here? No doubt he has his own story. Or does he still have a tongue under all that misuse? What is your name, sir?"

"Basch fon Ronsenburg," Basch said, almost amiably, and Gabranth cursed his brother under his breath as Ffamran swung his stare back to him, anger chasing at the heels of his shock.

Desperate now, Gabranth sighed. "Ffamran, _please_. Later." Behind him, his brother let out a soft snort of incredulity.

An exhalation marked Ffamran's grudging willingness to compromise. "Get him moved out of there to a cell, and his wounds treated. Whatever he may have done, this is _inhumane_, Gabranth. Archadian law has strong covenants against the mistreatment of prisoners."

"I will see to it."

"And do not even think to try and prevent me from coming back, to check on your _explanation_," Ffamran hissed, and stalked out of the chamber.

Gabranth let out the breath he had been holding, just as Basch asked, very mildly, "Who was that?"

"'Tis none of _your _blasted business," Gabranth snarled, turning to bark orders to the guards.

--

"Were you aware of the circumstances that caused the end of the Dalmascan War?" Gabranth asked, when they were in private in their chambers. Ffamran leant on the sandstone wall next to the arch to the balcony, arms crossed. Gabranth sat in one of the wickerwork chairs next to a beautifully tooled stone table that he was in little mood to admire, nervously tugging at the tips of his gauntlet. It was only with Ffamran that he could lose this much of his much-vaunted cold composure.

"Not particularly. That year had Zargabaath busy over far too many cases, if I recall, and as such the associate team was nearly living in Chambers." Ffamran's voice had passed ice to an unnerving, flat calm.

"Well. To summarize it, King Raminas Dalmasca offered at the end to sign a treaty of surrender. Before Lord Vayne and his entourage could reach him, he had been murdered. By my brother, who was a General of Dalmasca and a Captain of its Knight-Guard. It seemed he objected to the very idea of capitulation." Gabranth could only hope his tone suggested no different. "He was to be executed, but it was arranged for him to be held prisoner in secret instead."

"Seeing the conditions of his captivity, I am not sure there was much mercy in this."

"No, there was politics involved." Gabranth hesitated. When Ffamran but arched an eyebrow, he sighed. "Basch is a close friend of Marquis Ondore of Bhujerba. He stands surety for Bhujerba's cooperation. Lord Vayne does not want a rogue State."

"Why not hold him in Archades, then? The Department can be discreet."

"The Department does not know about him."

"That much is evident. Blackmail _and_ a breach of fundamental human rights." Ffamran's fingers tapped impatiently on his sleeve. "I am not sure what to do."

"I will make better arrangements as to… custody. But for political reasons, he has to…"

"Gabranth," Ffamran was shaking his head, wryly, "You are no longer in Landis, nor are you a knight to a liege Lord. Your first duty is to Justice, as an officer of the Courts. That is what you swore when you graduated."

Gabranth was silent. He knew Vayne would be wroth, just as he knew what Vayne would suggest. Have the prisoner moved, and all the Guards admit no knowledge. Then it would just be Ffamran's word. The very thought of how furious the young Judge would be at that made him suppress a wince. He was caught between two conflicting loyalties, and Ffamran had not been brought up as he had, along codes of fealty.

"And there is also the matter about how I feel your story is a little rehearsed."

Having expected that comment: Ffamran's incisiveness, after all, was the reason why he had been made Chief Aide at the tender age of sixteen; Gabranth knew his face was carefully blank. It was a gamble to say what he did next, but he knew, wryly, as much as it had been two years of mistreatment, as much as he had betrayed his brother, Basch would not gainsay him before Ffamran. It was not in his nature. And even if he did, his story was quite unlikely, compared to Vayne's script. "Feel free to speak to Basch."

"Before he is squirreled away again, no doubt." Ffamran stalked over to the stand by the dresser, which held his polished armor.

"Where are you going?"

Ffamran stripped off the tooled vest for the padded undershirt, replying without looking back. "Off to question the prisoner."

"I will go with you."

"No. You will stay here and make excuses for me at dinner." Cold. "This changes things between us, Gabranth. I have not yet decided how _much_."

--

Basch glanced up when Ffamran was shown to his cell. It was in a disused row just before the disreputable cage, but it was a fair sight better, with fresh rushes, at least, and a minimally stained blanket. And the prisoner had at least been washed, with the greasy evidence of salve over his wounds. Ffamran looked him over cursorily even as Fran leant against a wall, bowed her head and half-lidded feral eyes, a sign that she was devoting all her attention to her hearing, as the Imperials were dismissed.

Ffamran waited until she murmured, "No one near," before speaking. "Judge-Magister Gabranth gave me a brief of your alleged offences. I assume you plead innocent."

To his surprise, Basch merely smiled, lopsided and gentle, out of place under that livid scar and the few rags that hung off a painfully thin frame. "I asked Noah… I believe you called him Gabranth… who you were. He refused to answer."

"And who do you think I am?" Ffamran inquired, controlling the spark of anger that comment created. Gabranth had much to answer for, and he was still numbly shocked that the other man could have kept this travesty from him. Fran's words echoed knells in his heart: _How much would you sacrifice for your curiosity?_ Everything, it seemed.

"Evidently, a Judge, and probably a highly ranked one. But for Noah to have acted like that before you, I assume you are at the very least his lover. For how long?"

"About five years," Ffamran said absently, before reminding himself sharply to pay attention. "I would like to hear your defense, of your actions."

"I have no comment," Basch punctuated the outrageous statement with a wry chuckle. "Is that what Judges say?"

"Perhaps two years of confinement has loosened your senses," Ffamran blinked, startled. "If you have a conflicting set of facts I would like to hear it. You need not fear reprisal."

Basch made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, relaxed further in his bunk, and closed his eyes. "'Tis obvious Noah loves you. More so than I have ever seen him love another."

"That is irrelevant."

"Quite relevant to me," Basch shrugged, then winced as the movement apparently brought him pain.

"You realize," Ffamran was struggling to keep his patience, "That this could be the last time you could tell anyone what actually happened."

"That I could be moved? I am well aware of that," Basch did not open his eyes. "I have no comment. Though I would like to speak to Noah."

The other man was stubbornly silent through further questioning, and Ffamran finally left in disgust. Despite his sharp irritation with unreasonable stubbornness, he felt he could touch the edges of a reason for Basch's behavior, and it annoyed him all the more. The honor of Knights often clashed inconveniently with justice.

-tbc-

[Technically, all the Dark Mirror fics are tbc. I am envious of people's abilities to write lengthy NC17s. I'm actually incapable of doing so. And the annoying thing is, when I reread my fics and the inconvenient matter of rambling plot that gets in the way of more NC17, I only really read the NC17…


	4. Amends

[A/n: Originally intended to write an AU where all of them are deities, and crossover it with American Gods, but was unable to find my copy of AG, and refresh my memory on Shadow's character. XD oh wells.

Dark Mirrors

1 High School AU

Basch x Balthier, Gabranth x Balthier

Amends

Basch was fairly sure that the design he had seen of Puck's costume for the summer play, on paper, had not looked _this_ good.

Ffamran's caramel hair was unruly, and his matching set of eyes sparkled with hidden mischief as he turned himself this way and that before the full-length mirror in Basch's bedroom, his lips sketching an ironic smile, picture perfect and too knowing in its invitation. He wore a soft sleeveless leather vest, buttoned only enough to keep the garment over tanned skin, and hipster white trousers with red harlequin squares down the flanks, that tucked neatly into knee-high maroon boots. Exquisite black-wheeled tattoos seemed scrawled liberally over his chest, arms, and left cheek, their precision and care a clear mark of Noah's design, if not his work.

Despite his resolve, Basch felt the faintest stir of desire warm his belly.

He tried to distract himself with questions. "Are those… tattoos permanent?"

Ffamran met his gaze through the reflection on the mirror, as he tucked thumbs into the wide belt over his hips. "Heavens no. I am not _that_ excited over my role in the summer play."

"Stick-ons, or…"

"Some sort of henna, probably a hybrid, and just for today's afternoon rehearsal. Body paint. It didn't wash in the shower, but I have been assured that make-up remover would work. Your brother is surprisingly good with the brush." Ffamran paused, and his grin turned sly, the invitation stark now in his eyes. "Pity he tends to get _distracted_."

Basch took a long, measured breath. He had been on the losing end of his previous 'deal' with Ffamran, and as an unspoken forfeit the boy was now a nominally welcome visitor to the Ronsenburg household. Ffamran continued to bed Noah, on whim, despite the older man's best efforts, but smitten with the boy as Basch's poor brother was, his rebuffs were getting increasingly token, of late. And it made it easier for Basch himself to refuse, in any case, out of sibling loyalty.

Not that rebuffs discouraged Ffamran: they likely had the opposite effect. And Basch was ashamed to admit that he found Ffamran's curiosity flattering.

"Where _is_ Noah," Basch muttered under his breath. He had woken up in the mid-morning for breakfast only to find Ffamran already in costume, minus the sleeveless jacket, with Noah's spare towel around his shoulders and hair still dewed from the shower, studying their coffee machine.

Over eggs, baked beans and toasts, Ffamran made what Noah termed The Switch: random slips into the boy under the Puckish façade, sober, lonely and frighteningly jaded for his age. _Do you know, Mister Ronsenburg, this is the first time since my mother's passing that someone has made me breakfast without my having to pay them for it._

Before he could come up with a response, the impish little smirk was back, with a snipe over the carbon in the overdone toast. His brother hadn't made an appearance, but now it was nearly lunch, and the rehearsals were in the mid-afternoon.

"Still sleeping things off, perhaps," Ffamran's grin was sly in the mirror. "An unfortunate consequence of having older playmates."

_Playmates_. That was certainly what they were to Ffamran. Perhaps the reason why he seemed to want them both was simply contained in that statement; that as high maintenance in terms of attention as Ffamran was, one would not be sufficient.

Something must have changed in his expression: Ffamran dipped his head, briefly, lips shaping a word that Basch did not catch, then, "Lord, what fools these mortals be…"

The odd bitterness laced in the wry humor made Basch arch an eyebrow. "I don't recall that line being said in such fashion."

"I'm entitled to interpretation in the circumstances." The returning quip was too rote, but Ffamran turned to regard him with his usual impish grin. Off-balance again, Basch missed the moment to question, when Ffamran expertly changed the subject to assignment deadlines. His mind on automatic-teacher-responses, Basch wryly noted that Ffamran's 'slips' themselves all seemed perfectly timed, on a balance of sympathies, to be anything but orchestrated; but like his brother, he was already too susceptible.

--

Noah appeared during lunch, apparently drawn by the scent of toasting focaccia bread, shirtless with faded jeans, barefoot and still a little damp from the showers, rubbing his eyes and yawning as he slouched into a chair at the kitchen table. Basch carefully edged a little further away from Ffamran, who was leaning quite into his personal space, ostensibly to reach for the pepper at the sideboard, but his brother's expression only had resignation now, no jealousy. "Is that lunch?"

"Good morning to you too," Ffamran retorted, abandoning sliced ham and carrots to stalk over and settle in Noah's lap. The older man deftly caught slender wrists before fingers reached his shoulders.

"Washed?"

"Hardly unhygienic." Ffamran pouted, but went to wash his hands at the sink, grudgingly, before resettling over Noah's thighs, and receiving a brushing kiss over parted lips as a reward. Hurriedly, Basch turned his stare back to slicing smoked ham. It was none of his business, and… his brother's next mild words nearly made him slice off the tip of his forefinger.

"We really should share you."

"What, like a pet?" Ffamran's indignation was too playful to be genuine.

"A kitten," Noah agreed, his light tone colored a little by weariness, in the tightness to the words. "Albeit a difficult one."

"I should be fair insulted, Noah. Perhaps I should start scratching the furniture."

Basch knew, without turning around, that both sets of eyes were fixed on his back. The temptation was great, but he grit his teeth. "No thank you."

"You're inclined to be selfish?" Ffamran could not hide all of his disappointment. And there was his game all along, despite words said in front of mirrors. He wanted two playmates. Basch's pride would not allow it; and he had thought Noah's would be the same. It was as disappointing as it was disconcerting to realize how much of a hold the seventeen-year-old had on Noah.

"I am _inclined _to keep my hands off what is my _brother's_," Basch said, as firmly and as coldly as he could. He arranged toast into an open sandwich with sliced ingredients, and put two plates before Ffamran and Noah without meeting either of their eyes, then stalked out of the kitchen with his own.

--

Basch wasn't surprised when Noah pulled him aside to the student garden, when they dropped Ffamran off at school for rehearsals. During the peaceful weekends, the slightly unruly plot of student-tended potted plants at the back of the school seemed somewhat less pointless than they usually did, hidden from view of the manicured estate that surrounded the visible sides of the private school.

Basch started first, since Noah's eyes kept drifting to the loud orange carnations, a sure sign that his brother was having difficulties voicing a concept. "If it's about that ridiculous arrangement you suggested in the kitchen, Noah, I won't agree. And you shouldn't, either."

Noah bit out a long sigh. "I know I shouldn't."

"But?"

"I think you know why." _I love him._ "And I think you do, as well."

It was Basch's turn to look uncomfortably at the carnations; his heart ached. "Noah."

"You can't lie to me, little brother," Noah's lopsided smile was wry.

"I tried to hide it. And really, I would rather you just… or if he put this outrageous suggestion to you, I very much doubt anyone is worth this."

"No, he didn't," Noah tucked thumbs into the pockets of faded jeans. "But I know he'd get bored, sooner or later, otherwise."

"I feel he would do so earlier, were he to have both of us, rather than… keep trying." Basch looked up at the pruned trees that marked the beginnings of the carefully tended lawn. "And his motive is no more than mischief. I still feel you should… well, at the very most, the term break is in a few weeks, and we could simply go overseas. No doubt he would amuse himself elsewhere."

Noah's gaze drifted from the carnations to the morningflowers, to his shoes, then both ends of his mouth curled slightly upwards. "Kiss him once and you'll think this quite different."

"I doubt that. There's much in the boy that I like, but he is far too much trouble."

"I mean it. Kiss him once. If your mind isn't changed I'll take leave now and go overseas, if you want."

--

Trying to find an appropriate time and place to kiss Ffamran was harder than he'd thought. The rehearsals dragged on past dinner, and Noah had long fallen asleep in the staff room's spare bed. Basch stayed with the Literature teacher Ondore in the theatre to supervise. Though it was a student-run production, it was generally felt that Ashe and Vayne could not be trusted to endure each other's company without adult influence for longer than three hours.

Eventually, rehearsals were called, and Ffamran looked tired as he was led down dimly lit stairways to the staff room, located on the other side of the sprawling converted mansion which made up the private school. One of the tattoos on his right arm was finally smudging, and he was fanning himself with his stylized mask in between yawns.

"Do you want us to drop you back over at your place?" Basch asked, thinking about opportunities.

"Hn. I suppose I should make a token effort to make it look like I live there," Ffamran shrugged, "And besides, the Internet at your place is terrible."

"Unnecessary expenses," Basch said, then paused outside the infirmary, as the impulse struck him. He pulled Ffamran into the room and closed the door, pulling the slender body up against him in the darkness. Better that he could not see that sly little inviting grin, or meltingly brown eyes, as his hands crept hesitantly down from shoulders to the almost-girlish waist.

Ffamran made a surprised little hum at the back of his throat, then there was a clink as the mask was dropped, and small fingers pulled his shirt out of breeches to splay hands against his back, just as hesitantly. They slid up his muscular arms to cup his cheeks when Basch tilted Ffamran's chin up for a kiss. Soft lips and the faintest taste of mint. He had intended to keep it chaste, but then Ffamran's eyelashes fluttered shut against his skin, and Basch heard a faint sigh of relief, as though gentleness was still such a novel concept to the boy in this intimacy, despite Noah, that he was treasuring every moment.

Time was fluid in eddies of whispery moans and the wet tangles of lips against lips, tongues and clinking teeth, but Basch was carefully conscious to keep his hands where they were, even as Ffamran's own soft palms slipped from his cheeks to the shells of his ears, then his neck, to sketch over his shoulders. Ethical considerations fled, when the boy made a little moan that gave rise to an answering pulse between his legs…

The sharp ascending ringtone of his mobile phone startled them apart, and Basch fumbled quickly for the device, out of breath and gasping. Just to kiss had taken all of his control, and he wondered if that (and Ffamran's vulnerability) had been what Noah had meant. The name on the caller ID was his brother's, and he took a breath to compose himself before picking up.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" Noah sounded annoyed. "It's getting late, and we haven't eaten."

"Um." Basch stiffened, as Ffamran encircled arms around his waist, then relaxed forcibly as the boy only buried his face in his shirt.

Noah picked that up instantly: they were twins, after all, and no one knew him in this world better than his brother. "Oh." Hesitation on the other end, then a wry, "I'll take a cab home."

"No, no, wait," Basch tried to concentrate as arms tightened around him. "We'll, er, I'll meet you up front."

"Changed your mind?" Noah asked shortly, then hung up before Basch could say anything further.

"That was handled gracefully," Ffamran murmured into his shirt.

"Given the consequences," Basch tried unsuccessfully to soften the hard, wounded edge to his words, took a breath, then forced his voice to calm. "Are you hungry?"

"Are you angry with me?" Ffamran's voice was uncertain, and showed all of his age; bewildered, a little frightened, and in the dark Basch could not see whether it was feigned.

He decided to give the boy the benefit of doubt, lowering his chin to nuzzle soft brown curls scented faintly with citrus soap. "No."

"You should be," Ffamran was almost inaudible. "Why aren't you?"

Basch blinked, as he wrapped arms around Ffamran's back in turn. "Should I be?"

Ffamran ignored the light tone. "Any normal person would."

"Why, do you want me to be?"

"I've been trying for bloody long, haven't I?" And there it was again, that strange bitterness. "Every time I think I succeed you just seem to forget about it shortly after."

"It's too much effort to stay angry with someone," Basch pressed a palm against the velvety skin of Ffamran's lower back, trailing fingers over the valley of the spine.

"I am beginning to think being obnoxious is a poor tactic on people with seemingly boundless patience," Ffamran muttered, as though to himself.

"And I am beginning to think that I should make a greater effort to attempt to understand you," Basch said dryly.

The boy took deep, slow breaths, turning to press his cheek against Basch, instead. Finally, he murmured, "A logical equation stands that where one gets beyond a certain threshold of proximity to another person emotionally, with the high probability of loss involved in relationships, especially those of this sort, one takes hurt beyond a proportionate need."

It took Basch a moment to sort it out, then he began to chuckle. The laughter shook his frame despite his best efforts and the final realization that touched at the very beginning of the problem. Ffamran had no mother, and his father was hardly in his life. As high as his IQ was, he was still human, after all.

Ffamran curled fingers sharply into Basch's hips, and his irritation showed in his voice. "There is nothing funny in that at all."

"So you went to all those elaborate measures once you realized you liked me?" Basch's tone was incredulous. It was flattering, even as he supposed that Noah had guessed that all along, poor man that he was, to be used as a pawn in a boy's attempt to build moats and forts. And now Ffamran's machinations were a tangled snarl that would take genius to unravel; and he could not quite fully forgive his callousness. As intentions went, Ffamran had only partially achieved his goal; perhaps not enough of it. _Kiss him once._ Noah must have known this: that the illogic of physical intimacy would shatter both their illusions. The sacrifice would have cost him.

"I went to all those measures once I realized _you_ returned such in kind," Ffamran snapped, though his fingers relaxed. "_Logically_…"

Basch stifled the outburst with another gentle kiss, ignoring the ungracious nip to his tongue by curling the tip around white teeth and stroking. Several kisses later, Ffamran was pliant again in his arms, purring under petting fingers. "Logic doesn't apply between _normal_ people," he said then, playfully, and felt Ffamran stiffen.

To his relief, the boy began to laugh, little gasps of breath that sounded somewhat like sobs. "So you win your bet, Mister Ronsenburg." More soberly, he added, as soft fingers pressed against his scar, "Then whatever happens next, it would be your call."

--

Noah had indeed taken a cab home, and Basch dropped Ffamran off before driving back. His brother was shooting rings in the court at the back of their apartment block, and had already worked up a sweat when Basch let himself into the fenced ground and leant against the criss-crossed grille. The basketball was discarded at another three point shot, and Noah jogged over to lean on the grille beside him, his breath erratic but coming under control. He didn't speak, and they listened to the scratchy duets of crickets and the faraway clanks of a cat settling on the bins.

Finally, Basch said, quietly, "He gave me a choice."

"I thought he would." Noah's reply was neutral.

"How did you guess at his motives?"

Noah smiled then, a tiny brittle curl to his lip. "I could flatter my sense of empathy and judgment by lying, but actually, he talks a little in his sleep, and sometimes he says your name."

Basch grimaced. "I swear to you I have never…"

"I know. And never would have even touched him had I not suggested it and cornered you." His brother glanced up at the few overhead lamps that provided light to the court, ringed by insects. "And we would have all continued to be unhappy in a rather perverse way. Now you can have him and that would be the end of it."

"What makes you think, brother, that I would rather have happiness over yours?"

"What makes you think I will be happy with him?" Noah inquired, but he did not look at Basch. "And you won't share."

"I would. If I were sure that it would make you happy. But you seem to tend towards bouts of jealousy," Basch grinned, to take the sting from his words, but Noah merely snorted.

--

He was next alone with Ffamran when the boy tagged home with him after class. Noah was occupied with the track team, and even though Basch would normally wait for him, he supposed this called for some privacy. Ffamran guessed as much, as he settled down cross-legged on the long couch, his eyes flickering about and his fingers playing with the velvet strap of his bag.

Basch sat in the armchair facing him, but before he could settle on a way to start the conversation, Ffamran said, quietly, "You want me, but your brother's apparent happiness supercedes that." When Basch nodded, Ffamran lowered his head with a soft bark of laughter. "Well! And that is irony for you. But it is all very well, I suppose. I cannot have you, and knowing that, I think I would eventually tire of your brother. Then we will all have what we originally wanted."

"Learning to return his feelings should not be too much hardship," Basch suggested, as gently as he could.

"But he is not you, and neither of you substitute the other," Ffamran's retort was sharp, even as his smile turned habitually impish. "And you miss the point, Mister Ronsenburg, if my objective was to keep my distance from those who would snare me."

"I doubt your concept of freedom is quite worth your humanity."

"The concept of minimal hurt," Ffamran studied his fingers, "Is logically sound, Mister Ronsenburg. People are a predictable collection of behavioral patterns that contain minimum propensities of deviation. But I thank you for your concern, and as inane as this may sound, I hope we can remain friends."

"And I would have been more inclined to agree had you looked at me even once since sitting down, Ffamran."

"Then what do you want?" Ffamran asked sharply, nervous and irritable and out-of-sorts, far from his normal composure.

"For you to make amends," Basch said mildly. "First by apologizing to Noah. And then… well, I would wait for you to graduate. Before that it's wholly up to you what happens, if you can learn to love Noah, or if you find another. Otherwise I trust that in a year you'll have rethought your 'logical' equations."

"Not quite the gentleman's way out as I expected," Ffamran's impish grin seemed genuine, now. "But elegant."

"Thank you," Basch said dryly, having lost a night's sleep to possibilities.

"But I want consideration," Ffamran purred, rolling to his feet (and Gods, the school uniform was definitely not meant to look this good). Basch fought the urge to flatten back in the armchair as the boy straddled him, fingers curling in his tie. "If you want me to exercise patience for a year."

"That was not what I asked you to do," Basch grit his teeth as his voice hitched under a pert rump pressed neatly over his groin.

But Ffamran's voice was sober again, against his hair. "Just this once."

Basch thought it over, as fingers released their grip on his tie to sift through his hair, memorizing the textures, tickling over sideburns and the splash of stubble. "A theory of reasonable behavior would have me refuse."

"My theory regards logical behavior, which isn't always reasonable," Ffamran's shoulders slumped in clear disappointment, resting his forehead against the older man's, then there was the butterfly brush of a blink against his skin, as Basch gently began to unbutton the starched shirt.

--

Ffamran was amazingly flexible. Basch found himself continually surprised by this (if pleasantly), as the thigh hooked over his shoulder shuddered, and the lithe back under his hand arched. He continued to hold down the other slender leg, as he ground just a little deeper; cheeks hollowed in a startled gasp, then Ffamran was keening his name and clawing at the sheets, in a perfect pitch of plaint that dragged out an answering moan.

He fended off a third attempt by the boy to touch his ignored need, watching Ffamran curl fingers tight into a pillow as he bit down on it to stifle a cry born of pleasant agonies. This was not about satisfying wants but the process of leaving indelible impressions, and if signatures on flesh could only be done with a little cruelty, Basch was not quite so gentlemanly with his patience frayed.

-cut to fit ff net rating- 

Ffamran curled tight against him when Basch slumped onto his side on the sheets to catch his breath, and that told him further than words about motives and intent; that Ffamran had not immediately left for the showers to shed all evidence of his touch. He pressed fumbling kisses over lips that curled into a soft, tired smile, and tried not to think of pity, or siblings, or inconvenient triangles.

--

His brother's eyes flickered the next morning at the kitchen table, when Basch was halfway through making coffee, when Ffamran finally dragged himself out of the bedroom to the showers, dressed in an oversized shirt and muttering sleepily under his breath. Noah waited until he heard the shut of the door, before murmuring, "He's yours, then."

"In a year, maybe." Basch told Noah of what he had come up with.

Noah tried to sneer, but the expression turned into a tired grin. "Little brother, I was serious when I intimated that you could have him."

"And I was serious when I said the ethics in this bothers me," Basch retorted, cracking eggs into a bowl. "The unfairness, as well."

"He is seventeen and I am inclined to forgive him," Noah nodded his thanks at coffee. "You'll do all three of us worse injustice by enforcing this farce of a wait."

"If you want to share, I would far rather we shared more than the rights to his bed," Basch said as mildly as he could, whipping egg together with milk and listening to his brother inhale sharply behind him. "So I'm giving you a year to catch up, that's all."

Noah began to chuckle then, strained, a little helpless, and threaded with wary relief. "I thought you said it was a ridiculous suggestion."

"That was before I got a better impression of his reasoning," Basch started deftly on dicing onions. "And I think this would suit us better. Besides, I think it would take two pairs of eyes to keep track of this one."

"Hah. That it would."

"Just try not to be so bloody noisy."

"After last night, I doubt you're in any sort of position to criticize me," Noah drawled, his tone lighter than Basch had heard for a fair while. "But I'll count coffee and eggs ample amends."

-fin-

[full version available manic(underscore)intent(dot)livejournal(dot)com


	5. Still Life in Color

[A/N: Following 'hubris', this is the ffnet version. The policy dictates that NC17 is not allowed, and as such, part of this fic has been cut. The full version is available in my homepage, check my profile..

Dark Mirrors

5

Different Life Choices

Basch x Noah x Ffamran

Still life in color

_Ace of Hearts_

Considering the amount of social life he was giving up to overtime, Ffamran thought, he was certainly bloody underpaid. It was unfortunate that of his entire associate team Judge-Magister Zargabaath seemed only to feel that his Chief Aide was obliged to do extra work on the side through the night, especially before a complex trial.

And later and later into the night, as more precedents struck him as relevant, Zargabaath would proceed to send his poor overworked young Aide to the library to locate increasingly obscure cases in dustier and dustier files and books. Not to mention that the bloody library was on the other side of the damned _Department_, but nobody was complaining.

The librarian on after-hours duty had been asleep, and therefore decidedly unhelpful, but Ffamran had managed to glean that the looseleaf file in question had already been borrowed out, to Judge-Magister Basch. And the Ninth Bureau's Chambers, as life would have it, were at another corner of the damned Department, and more or less at the same distance again to Zargabaath.

At least prescience and the summer heat had him wearing the dress jacket uniform of his rank rather than the armor, but Ffamran was irritable, sticky and souring fast when he finally arrived outside the oak double doors of the Ninth Bureau's Chambers, the label to the area in discreet bronze set high on the right door. The indicator light to his left was orange: Basch was working late as well, it seemed.

Soundproofing meant he couldn't gather whether the Judge-Magister had, like Zargabaath at this hour, already nodded off at his desk. Ffamran pressed the buzzer once, and waited.

After a considerable amount of time which he spent impatiently studying his nails, the ceiling, and the darkened sky, Ffamran rang the buzzer again.

This time, the right door opened after a few minutes. Basch looked somewhat disheveled, his wheat-gold hair unruly over the livid scar marring otherwise strikingly handsome features. He smiled politely, and pushed his hands into the pockets of gray breeches: the Judge-Magister was barefoot, and his only other piece of clothing was the Judge-Magister's issue dress white jacket, unbuttoned to show toned muscle.

The high collar of the jacket was insufficient to hide a reddened mark just under the curve of Basch's jaw. A lover's mark. Ffamran found his eyes drawn to it despite having to remember his business, and had to blink rapidly when Basch prompted gently, "Judge Ffamran?"

"Ah. Er. Judge-Magister Zargabaath would like to know… I mean, he would like to borrow volume two-hundred-fifteen of the sixth circuit looseleafs from you, sir." Ffamran fought to keep down his embarrassment. It was likely he had interrupted Basch in the middle of some sort of rendezvous: the red mark looked fresh, and his lips were slightly swollen.

"Oh." Basch frowned, looking over his shoulder at the neat stacks of paper, files and books on the large table behind him: the common Associate's main room, lit dimly. "I think I did have it about here somewhere. One moment."

An indistinct shape and footsteps behind Basch, then Judge-Magister Noah stepped under the overhead lamp just behind the arch of the doorway. Identical twins (and, if one were to believe the swooning opinion of female members of Zargabaath's associate team, the hottest males in the Department), but rather incongruously, Ffamran felt Noah looked nothing like his brother. Where Basch's smile was gentle, warm, Noah's was sharp, more a smirk; where Basch's eyes were honest and open, Noah's were calculating. Noah's self-confidence bordered on arrogance, in his poise and his stride, imperious and commanding. Basch was more diffident in comparison, a knight of service.

Ffamran's mind was objectively considering the curiosities of two men born with the same face yet of apparently polar opposite personalities, when Noah slipped an arm around his brother's waist from behind with a familiarity that looked distinctly out of place, despite any consideration of close brotherhood. And then rested his chin on Basch's shoulder. Basch, on the other hand, looked absolutely unconcerned, as though this was perfectly normal.

He could hear or see no one else in the room behind them.

"Noah," Basch prodded gently at the arm that held him flush against his brother, "Judge Ffamran here wishes me to find a file that I had borrowed previously from the library."

"Mm." Ffamran found himself subjected to a searching once-over by piercing gray-blue eyes. "Can it wait?"

"Sure," Ffamran said quickly, his voice pitched a little too high, once he realized that Noah's lips were similarly swollen. _Good Gods, don't tell me…_ the mental images were immediately and unfortunately erotic. Ffamran swallowed, glad for once that the dress jacket's material was stiff and long. "Sorry sir. Good night."

"I'll get it to Zargabaath in the morning," Basch offered, with a wry smile, no doubt guessing easily at the root of Ffamran's discomfort, then twisted to cuff his brother on the arm in playful reproach when Noah rather rudely began to close the door, saying a word in Landissan that was likely vulgar. Noah chuckled, deep and velvety, and just as the gap between the doors closed, Ffamran saw him lean towards Basch, lips parted.

_Two of Hearts_

Ffamran woke to the drone of a fan and its artificial breeze against his hair. He stirred, muttering, pulling the blanket more tightly over his shoulders despite the warmth of the morning. It took a few minutes before his mind, climbing out of sleep, registered the blanket as Zargabaath's rich purple cloak, his pillow his own balled up coat, and the cramp developing in prickles in his thighs due to poor sleeping conditions: the old cracked leather couch in the Judge-Magister's office. There was a soft conversation outside. Two familiar voices. Zargabaath's gruff tenor, Basch's gravel.

"You overwork your Aide," Basch was saying, and his reproach was only partially playful. "How old is the boy?"

"Seventeen," Zargabaath said dismissively, "And I've several matters to attend to today."

"_Seventeen_? I have heard that Judge Ffamran was young, but I thought twenty, at the least."

"He's more than capable, though it appears he still has the easily-shocked quality of youth," Zargabaath said dryly.

Basch chuckled, amused rather than discomfited. "He told you?"

"No, but I could tell that he was embarrassed by _something_, and I doubt t'would have been from trying to understand your accent. Besides, 'tis not like either of you have tried very hard to hide it from the beginning."

"I will inform Noah of your opinion." Veiled humor.

"Aye, and do try to encourage him to stop corrupting the young. Thank you for the file, Judge-Magister Basch. Where _is_ your brother? We have a joint hearing within the hour."

"'Tis his turn to get breakfast today," Basch explained. "I'll go locate him. Do you want anything?"

"No, I've sent Judge Trillian to procure food on my behalf." Footsteps fading away, then Zargabaath entered his offices, and snorted. "You're still quite poor at feigning sleep, boy."

Ffamran opened his eyes, irritated at the title. He had heard Zargabaath defending his esoteric choice of a Chief Aide, even to other Judge-Magisters, and sometimes at length, but the old Judge persisted in calling him 'lad' or 'boy' in all but the most formal occasions. He sucked in a breath to retort, then growled instead, when the older man merely patted him absently on the head en-route to his desk.

"Go get cleaned up." Zargabaath's voice became a little more kindly, as the man sat down, yawning. "Trillian's gone for apple pie from the _Ralfsen_ café, cocoa and coffee, some of your favorites, so you can cease your complaints. When you get back, start on the appointments schedule. I've marked out the solicitors you have to make calls to."

"I _feel_ overworked."

"Quiet, child."

_Three of Hearts_

Judge-Magister Noah looked absolutely unconcerned to see him, when Ffamran all but walked into him on his way out into the courtroom to take his place at the associate's bar before the bench. The man was dressed in his elaborate formal gray armor, the horned helmet held against his hip by a gauntleted palm. The other two Judge-Magisters sitting in Court today, Ghis and Zargabaath, were already discussing the matter in a corner of the Judge's backroom, and Noah had been late.

Ffamran smiled politely. If Noah could pretend nothing had happened, so could he. "Judge-Magister Zargabaath and Ghis await you in the backroom, sir." They stood in the corridor that adjoined the main Court and the backroom in question.

"Thank you, Judge Ffamran," Noah said, and the very edge of his lips curled into a brief smirk. Again that searching once-over, but this time more slowly, lewd. Shocked, Ffamran could only blink, then blush hotly under the scrutiny, glad for his helm, that shielded all but his mouth. "I trust I did not startle you the night before?"

"No sir," Ffamran replied so quickly that he was sure the words had come out in a squeak. Noah had always come across as distant to him, the last few occasions where he sat at Court with Zargabaath, efficient, with a biting vein of humor whenever speaking with the other Judges, and with a tendency to disregard the associates, including his own.

"Good. I wouldn't have wanted to," Noah stepped closer, and Ffamran found abruptly that he was cornered between the older man and the wall, a hand planted next to his shoulder preventing escape. The man's smile was predatory with frank interest. "I've not seen you without your helmet before, Judge Ffamran, until that night."

"I was not dressed formally due to the heat, sir." Stiff with surprise, Ffamran oscillated between bolting and sacrificing his dignity, or flattening himself against the wall out of instinct. His body decided.

"Then 'tis quite a pity that the Courtrooms are artificially cooled," Noah said urbanely. "Are you free at lunch, Judge Ffamran?"

Ffamran took a deep breath, suddenly irked by where this was going. He had his own pride to consider, after all, and he was damned if he would let himself be led about by the nose by a couple of bored Magisters. So he forced a smirk. "What's it to you, Judge-Magister?"

Noah's gray-blue eyes widened, as though he hadn't expected such a response, then the man chuckled, lazy and appreciative. "I'll quite appreciate the favor, and my brother as well."

Ffamran fixed the smirk on his face. The word _brother_ was said so possessively that it forced the younger Judge to reconsider, briefly, his deductions from the invitation. _No, there could be no other explanation… could there?_

"Stop harassing my aide," Zargabaath's voice, from the side. Both turned to see the old Judge, arms crossed, his tone dry. "You're late."

"My apologies," Noah pushed himself away from the wall, not in the least embarrassed at being caught propositioning a boy. "My brother's fault. He had me buying breakfast from one of the more obscure cafes in the damned city. I'll question his motives, but he was too quick to disappear for his pre-Court conference."

Ffamran reflected that Basch had been by Zargabaath's offices surprisingly early to hand over the file, but kept his peace. The old Judge wasn't stupid, in any case: there was a snort from behind the visored helm, as Ffamran took the opportunity to escape to the Courtroom.

_Four of Hearts_

Ffamran resolved, as the Court took a break for lunch, to hide somewhere quiet and avoid both twins. It would never suit his pride to be part and prize of a competition in sibling rivalry, reservations aside. Leaving Courtroom Two through the main doors, he quietly ducked out of wide, arched stone corridors, through the militantly trimmed Exarch Lawns, all emerald turf, no weeds, no flowers. He pulled off his helmet as the blast of summer air hit him outside of Court, and ran a gloved hand over his short-cropped hair.

The High Courts sat in the centre of the Department complex, which was separate from Archades save for a bridge and the Department's private aerodrome. The press of bodies heading to either was horrendous as always: though the Department had two canteens, there was priority seating to Judges and cadets over private legal practitioners and other poor souls enmeshed in the legal engine.

Ffamran had made it to the ornate stone entrance of the aerodrome when a pretty, tall girl with tawny, sandy hair dressed in a Chief Aide's armor stepped out from behind one of the carved columns. Her face was fine-boned, and there was something seemingly birdlike in her fussy grace, as she pushed a long-fingered hand out in his direction and smiled. "Judge Ffamran? I am Judge Meridian, Chief Aide of the Ninth."

"Pleased to meet you," Ffamran said warily, shaking Meridian's hand. She had a surprisingly strong grip.

"It is my pleasure, I assure you," Meridian said brightly, "As well as it is to invite you to luncheon with Judge-Magister Basch and Noah."

Ffamran shook his head in disbelief at the bloody _gall_ of the twins. "I'm surprised Judge-Magister Noah's Aide didn't attempt to stop me from leaving the Courtroom."

"Judge Emma had instructions not to," Meridian replied pertly, transferring her grip to his wrist and pulling him behind her, not caring how it would look to the general public passing by to the aerodrome.

"A bet?"

"Precisely. Suffice to say I am not surprised that it was Judge-Magister Basch who succeeded." Meridian half turned when Ffamran dug in his heels, suddenly irritated at the bloody _gall_ of the Magisters, to have cast a net for something so trivial. "Judge Ffamran?"

Ffamran shook off her grip, and took a step back, eyes narrowed. "Tell them to take their games to someone who might appreciate it."

"Oh dear," Meridian said wryly, " 'Tis not what you think, Ffamran."

"Forgive me if I can't believe you."

"Then let me tell you one truism about the pair. They are one soul, and they share everything."

Surprised, and now somewhat intrigued despite himself, Ffamran allowed himself to be led.

_Five of Hearts_

Lunch, in the private dining rooms reserved for the Magisters, was curiously genial. They sat in a single function room, a square chamber with one steelglass wall that looked out over the sheer drop down towards Undertown, the lowest layer of Archades situated far beneath the Upper. The warmth of the yellow sun ceded to gray, then to formless black, as one looked down past Upper Archades to Lower to Undertown. The room was ornately furnished, with a thick carpet and antique furniture, three cushioned chairs at a round table. Noah appeared a little reserved, and had seemingly lost his predatory look. Basch led most of the conversation, innocuous, harmless details about the Department, politics, the outlying district Courts.

There was some relief there: Ffamran did not quite wish to speak of his family, of his increasingly irrational father and his deceased mother. He was, however, curious of the pair. "I had heard the two of you are Landissan."

"We are from Landis, yes," Basch said amiably, just as his brother seemed to tense, glancing at him. Basch shrugged slightly, and _that_ was a surprise: Ffamran had quite thought Noah the leader, Basch the follower.

Mulling that over, he nearly missed the edge in Noah's voice as the man said, "We came to Archades at Lord Vayne's behest, after Landis became part of the Empire."

Ffamran disregarded the obvious warning, wearing instead a polite smile. He'll teach them both to ware playing with apparent younglings. "I'm surprised that you both defected to the Empire upon Landis' defeat, then. One would have thought perhaps that you would both have fled to Dalmasca with the refugees."

"Ah, that," Basch said, unbothered by the question, though Noah's eyes narrowed slightly, "I was of the mind to."

"But?"

"Noah said 'please', and that was such a rare occurrence in itself that it stunned me into a moment of irrationality," Basch grinned, but Ffamran could sense that the other man was only partially joking.

_Six of Hearts_

"Shouldn't you be working, sir?" Ffamran's voice held just the hint of insolence. He often had coffee breaks later in the day, after Court, in a quiet corner of the less-frequented North Lawns, and he had been quite looking forward to the solitude after a hectic day. Basch merely smiled, and sat down beside him, though at a respectful distance, as though with a friend. Still in full armor, with a white mug of coffee and a wrapped package. Ffamran recognized the brand, the pale blue of the sticker that held the butcher's paper together, and frowned. _Who…?_

"Noah bought overmuch for our tea, and I thought we should share. I had heard it was a favorite of yours," Basch said amiably, and unwrapped the package. Ffamran fought down the urge to purr at the strong scents of butter and honey. Honeycake, from Café Omedia. Indeed his favorite: layers of lemon butter sponge baked with pockets of thick honey. _And_ not particularly a well-known fact.

He kept his hands on his lap and stared at Basch, until the man smiled, placed the package between them, like a peace offering. "Judge Emma appears quite popular with the male Judges of your Bureau."

Ffamran quietly resolved to make life more difficult for said male Judges, as his stomach won a losing battle with his self-control, and he removed his gauntlets, picked up one of the warm, sticky cakes. "Thank you then, and Judge-Magister Noah."

"There's no need to be so formal in private," Basch observed. "Noah and I would like to be able to call you Ffamran."

And there was another piece of the puzzle: Basch only seemed to refer to his twin as _Noah_. Noah only seemed to refer to Basch as _my brother_. Did this have to do with leaders and followers? The prickly possessive undertone that Noah's voice assumed when talking about Basch was here, absent. Instead there was a hint of a depth of encompassing love that Ffamran found a little disconcerting. Certainly it went beyond sibling love. Perhaps it was from being identical twins.

A puzzle, and he liked puzzles. Ffamran sighed, and gave in to inevitability. "Sure." He ate the peace offering.

"And Meridian informed us of your opinion," Basch continued, with a quick, sweet smile at the concession that made Ffamran's heart skip a beat. "I am sure that I speak for myself as well as Noah in assuring you that you are quite mistaken. We do not engage in such games."

"I could see no other reason for it," Ffamran countered. It had been a week since the incident, and he'd seen no hair of either brother save for Noah's Court appearances, and the man was distant again, professional.

"She did tell you we shared everything. 'Tis hard to share something when, say, the person prefers one of us to the other."

Ffamran stared at Basch for a long, stunned moment. _That_ certainly hadn't occurred to him. Basch drank his coffee, picked up a cake, inclined his head, and left the lawns.

_Seven of Hearts_

There had been no particular verbal agreement as such, and Ffamran was rather surprised that the initiation was from Noah. He had taken to meeting both brothers for luncheon when their schedules allowed it, and occasionally one or the other would appear for his coffee breaks. Sometimes they had dinner, where Noah was considerably more talkative and playful after a little wine.

He was taking coffee with Noah under a sky that was iron gray to an incoming summer storm, the manicured lawn losing some of their vibrant green, when the older Judge leant closer, gently turning his chin, brushed a kiss over parting lips. He was dimly aware of having put his mug behind him, stroking his hands over the uncovered portion of the older man's neck, and kissing him back, slippery and eager, surprising himself.

When they parted, that predatory gleam was back in Noah's eyes, and Ffamran found himself pulled onto the other man's lap, thankful that both of them weren't wearing their dress armor, and kissed again, more roughly, wondering how he was going to explain reddened lips to anyone who asked later. _Gods, let Zargabaath not notice…_

_Eight of Hearts_

He was rather expecting Basch to do the same, next break, but the man merely seemed chatty, as usual. But there was something of heat in lingering glances, and a gesture as forward as reaching over and _taking_ seemed very much not like Basch, Ffamran felt. This was after all the _nice_ one, and he realized quite wryly that this thought brought no different rush of emotion as thinking about Noah. It was too late: as they had intended, he now liked them both.

Basch's slight smile was almost shy, when Ffamran removed a gauntlet to tangle naked fingers through wheat-gold hair, pulled the other man down to an invitation shaped in parted lips.

_Nine of Hearts_

It's partway through the year and almost to his eighteenth birthday that Ffamran realized seeing the occasional reddened mark on Basch's neck that the man sometimes forgot to hide, and the telltale slight limp, that he was beginning to feel left out. The thought rather amused him, he grinned suddenly, making Noah raise an eyebrow, beside him. Basch didn't look up from his coffee, on Ffamran's other side, but he could tell the man tensed a little, so attuned to his brother's mood.

From this angle he supposed _this_ mark would have been a little difficult to hide, in any case. It was just next to Basch's fine gold hair, on the neck, and he could bet Noah had placed it on purpose. It made him wonder how many more marks would be under all that armor, and the pleasant consideration nearly made him miss Noah's question.

"Ffamran?"

"Mm?"

"Should you be sharing something?" Noah's grin was sly. The man had already followed Ffamran's gaze to the love-bite. Basch looked at them both, blinking, then rolled his eyes at his twin.

"Just feeling a little left out, 'tis all," Ffamran said, as innocently as he could. He felt both brothers stiffen a little in surprise, then Noah glanced quickly up at Basch.

Basch placed one hand gently on his thigh, his expression serious. "That was never our intention. But we wouldn't have wanted to hurry you into important decisions."

"Because it wouldn't be either of us, Ffamran," Noah whispered in his ear, ticklish and hot, "It would be both. We share all things, and you would be no exception. Do you understand what that would mean?"

Ffamran's cheeks burned, even as he tilted his head to nip at a lower lip, causing a soft, warning growl, then turning back to Basch to smirk. "I'm rather disappointed neither of you tried asking me sooner."

Basch smiled, with that quick, sweet smile that had stolen his heart, which Noah reflected against the nape of his neck.

_Ten of Hearts_

He wanted both twins so much that he ached, body and soul, and Ffamran was aware that mewling as he clung to Noah to be subjected to such possessive kisses was making the older man growl, and stir against his thigh. He was also dimly aware that Basch was locking the door to the twin's Central Square apartment behind them, and removing his armor, stacking it on a rack.

It was only after several moments of frantic kisses that Ffamran was surrendered to Basch, stripped to his waist and barefoot, and _his_ kisses were slow, tangling tongues, exploratory, more of affection than lust. Basch gently tugged him by the wrist, towards what was probably the bedroom, and Ffamran glanced back at Noah, who was navigating the knotted laces of his boots. Noah grinned, lascivious and appreciative at the gesture of inclusion, and jerked his head. _Follow_.

Several kisses afterwards he was on his back on white sheets, his jacket discarded somewhere at the doorway, and he was squirming as Basch lapped at his sensitive neck, nibbling, not quite leaving marks, his hands busy pebbling nipples. Noah walked into the room at that point, also dressed only in breeches, stretching out beside him and balancing his weight on an elbow, reaching over to pull up his twin's chin and kiss him. Basch purred, a rumbling sound that made Ffamran moan.

The sound seemed to startle the twins apart: they both glanced down at him, then Noah smirked, and bent his head to the nub of pebbling flesh, nudging Basch's fingers aside and rubbing his tongue against it. When he began to nip, Ffamran whimpered, finding his wrists held firmly above his head by Basch, who was tracing the shell and grooves of his ears with his tongue, nibbling at the lobes. _Gods_, he was already so hard, and Noah was teasing him now, brushing fingers against his tented breeches, making him struggle in Basch's grip and whine, pushing his heels against the sheets.

Ffamran had a moment of prescience when Basch released his wrists to kiss down from his collar to his ignored nipple and suckle, and he groaned, spreading his thighs, as Noah pushed a tongue down his throat. _One takes, one gives_. He wrapped his arms around Noah's neck, then jerked with a laugh of protest as Basch flicked his tongue against his navel. Ticklish. That proceeded to amuse both brothers for a while, as fingers played over his flanks and under his arms, making him a marionette of helpless laughter breathlessly cursing their ancestry. Noah snickered against his hair, then kissed at the wetness at the corners of his eyes.

Basch efficiently unlaced his boots, pulling them off, then his breeches. As he was stripped to the skin Noah pulled away to watch, and he blushed under their scrutiny, his prick flushed and hard against his belly, nestled in caramel curls. Ffamran arched with a shuddering moan at the first slow lick, but he noted that Basch was watching his brother, not him, and Noah's eyes were narrowing with hunger.

-cut to fit ffnet rules-

When Ffamran began to wriggle impatiently against Basch, the twins glanced at each other, then exchanged languid kisses. Ffamran dug his nails into Basch's shoulders, with a choked groan, as Noah pushed within him, his body struggling to accommodate the thick length, and the burn _hurt_, despite the preparation. He hadn't wanted to tell either twin that he was yet virgin to such play, in case they second-thought their choice. But Basch was blinking at Noah, over his shoulder, and he supposed something in the other twin's expression had told him as much. At Basch's startled question, _Ffamran_, he shook his head quickly, kissed him. When Noah was buried deep, waiting, he felt soft, reassuring kisses, against his spine, fingers stroking his thighs, his flanks, a thumb over his prick. It was too much, and he was fighting for shreds of control.

Noah kept it slow, rocking against him and murmuring words he could barely catch against his skin, soothing, as the burn eased to a not-unpleasant ache, shifting until the thick head within him brushed _there_, forcing a whimper and more scratches over muscular shoulders. After that it felt too fast, for Ffamran, in moments of heat and wet tangles of lips, to his first uncontrollable shudders and gasping cries of ecstasy to wet the space further between him and Basch; to answering groans and completion within him, against him.

Ffamran noted the fading memories of marks pressed into Basch's skin, over the broad chest, the hard curve of his shoulder, some days old and already smoothening to pink. The twins exchanged another kiss, this one slow, lingering, with Noah still within him, then Ffamran watched the white blink of teeth as Noah pressed a love bite over a bicep.

_Jack of Hearts_

Zargabaath seemed more amused than resigned at how his Chief Aide appeared rather more tired at the start of some days, but the old man had far too much personal dignity to snipe. It was Judge-Magister Zecht, a close friend of Zargabaath, who could be heard now and then having a little fun at either twin's expense. Noah tended to growl, Basch would merely smile.

When Noah began to get irritable at it all, Ffamran took Zecht aside. With the maverick Judge-Magister he was also on a first name basis (the Judge-Magister insisted it of his own associate team, as well). "Zecht. Could you stop teasing them? It annoys Noah."

Zecht grinned. They were in one of the less frequented, smaller corridors that connected the Courtrooms to the Department proper, and today the Judge was again wearing somewhat less of his ornamental armor than formality dictated. An open, bright purple shirt, and only the gauntlets and greaves, with issue breeches. "Do you know what you're getting into, boy?"

And _that_ annoyed Ffamran. "What makes you think I don't?"

"You're young still, Ffamran. And maybe you can't see this, but between those two, nothing will be more important to them than each other. 'Tis an odd person who could accept that."

_Queen of Hearts_

Drace is somewhat less blunt, but then, she had always appeared to treat Ffamran as her little brother. She had been from his standard, and was now serving as Chief Aide to Zecht; in the Department, she was probably his closest friend.

"At least you're happy," she said finally, one day, when they'd talked about any amount of topics other than what was on both their minds. It was more of a question than a statement.

They sat at Archadia's chocolate bar, a classy place on the eastern quadrant decorated in bronze and mahogany, at the front a jeweler's counter filled with trays of handmade chocolate. Drace was having mocha, Ffamran a waffle liberally drenched in thick chocolate.

"I am," Ffamran replied, and he was. Perhaps not as happy as he could be, but one could not have everything. He had _some_ of their regard, enough perhaps to forgive the continuous nagging feeling of final exclusion.

_King of Hearts_

Balthier is lying on the beach, at _Phon_, staring up at the distant gray shape of Bhujerba in the clouds, afloat in the past, when he hears a pair of footsteps approach. Basch sits down first, at his right, cross-legged; Noah at his left, legs outstretched, hands planted behind him. It's a nice day to be out in the sun, and both brothers are dressed only in black breeches, barefoot. Noah wears a necklace with a shark's tooth pendant, the ivory blending into pale skin. Balthier himself is dressed similarly, only with his leather breeches and sandal-boots, his shirt folded somewhere on the dock, free of the sand.

Behind them, Balthier picks out the sound of Noah's prickly charger, Hunter, snapping its beak at some poor soul who had come too close. None of them speak, and Balthier allows himself to be lulled by the sound of the surf and the distant caws of seagulls. With the twins, 'tis far too easy to allow oneself to be caught in their easy companionship, and his heart begins to ache.

Finally, he murmurs, "Shouldn't the two of you be working?"

Basch chuckles. Noah replies, dryly, "Haven't you ever thought of anything better to say to us as a greeting in five years?"

"Why fix what isn't broken? Besides, you've none of you ever answered me."

"What makes you think that's of such importance to us?" Basch answers questions with questions, his smile indulgent, as though Balthier's escape from Archades and further descent into outlawry, his technical treason of the last year and his later hand in regicide were but some adolescent romp.

Balthier growls. "'Tis always been obvious to me that nothing's of importance to either of you but each other."

Both twins chuckle, at that, and it's Noah who shakes his head. "There's naught more important in this world to us than each other, 'tis true, but 'tis not as though that excludes all other matters of the heart."

"Even if I were to accept that, I doubt there'll be quite enough room left for me," Balthier says, as coldly as he could, "And I've given it two years of chance."

He knows the brothers exchange knowing glances over his head, but he cares not, eyes fixed on Bhujerba. He doesn't yet feel like questioning why or how his wings keep taking him back to Archades, back to _them_; he calls it _recovering_ and is content at the moment to leave it so.

"Our airship's over in the east," Noah says then, as Basch picks up his right hand and brushes a kiss over his wrist. "We've coffee and honey cake. Your lovely companion is invited, if she's so minded to meet us."

Balthier closes his eyes as the twins leave. There's inevitability and there's _inevitability_, and he's quite minded to collect Fran from the hunter's stores and fly (and _oh_, the ache, as he thinks this). But in the warm sun what his heart keeps returning to is the reddened mark on the skin of a calf that he had caught a glimpse of, as Basch had drawn his knees up to get to his feet, and he _knows_.

His heart's not been his own since the very beginning, since the very first time he had seen red on pale skin.

Balthier passes an arm over his eyes, takes a breath, then rolls to his feet and gets up. The fine white sand shifts under his sandaled feet as he turns his back to the open sea.

-fin-


End file.
